


Out of the Ashes

by Sage8771



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Zombies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Negan (Walking Dead), Nice Negan (Walking Dead), Romantic Fluff, Sex, Sexy Negan (Walking Dead), Sweet Negan (Walking Dead), Teacher Negan (Walking Dead), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whirlwind Romance, wish fulfillment for all of us
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sage8771/pseuds/Sage8771
Summary: After finding out about your husband's affair with a married woman, you decide to tell her husband before you file for divorce, but in your wildest dreams, you never thought it would change your life irrevocably.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/You
Comments: 322
Kudos: 270





	1. Well, that's one way to break the news...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CLADD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLADD/gifts).



> Okay, so I just wanted to write a little fluffy fluff with an angsty start, so I hope you enjoy and have fun with it while I take a mini-break from all of my other fics. This will only be a few chapters, and I've never written a Negan/you perspective before. I just needed some snuggles out there.
> 
> Dedicated to my girl, CLADD!

The sound of a bag being zipped up woke you from the small amount of sleep that you’d managed to get. It was a familiar, grating noise, one that set your teeth on edge for a reason. You kept your eyes closed, even through the obnoxious spritzing of cologne, one that you detested, and the repeated shake of the mattress as your husband, Mark, bustled around, not giving a shit that you were laying there, even if it was only after six in the morning.  


“You up?” he asked, probably noticing the way your shoulders stiffened automatically, not that he cared.  


“I am now.”  


“Sorry, babe, but my flight leaves in two hours, and I don’t know where my silver cufflinks are. Can you help me look?”  


He asked, but you knew it meant ‘you need to find them, not me’, and you threw the covers off of your legs, sitting up without looking at him.   


“Thanks,” he mumbled, adding the bottle of cologne to the outside pocket of his bag. “I’m gonna head down and make a cup of coffee for the road.”  


When he sauntered out of the room, you put your head into your hands, stifling back a cry of anger and pain. You’d done it a lot the last few weeks, but with a deep breath, you got yourself back under control, shuffling to his closet and turning on the light, opening one of the drawers and flicking around the other cufflinks, looking for the ones that he wanted. They were a muted silver, opal shaped, and had his initials engraved on them, an anniversary gift from you to him three years before. Why he wanted them instead of the others, you didn’t know, but it wounded you that he was taking them on his trip. A lot of things about this conference he was going to brought you angst, though you couldn’t wait for him to leave.   


After searching through his watch drawer, you found them in the corner, stuck in the hinges of his Rolex, and you palmed them in your hand, hastily throwing a robe over your nightgown and smoothing back your hair.   


Mark was in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone, and you dropped the cufflinks on the counter, startling him. He quickly shut the phone, stuffing it into his pocket, and you continued over to the coffee machine, popping in a pod for yourself.   


“Thanks, babe. I knew you’d find ‘em.”  


“You’re welcome.”  


“What’s on your agenda while I’m gone?” he asked, inserting the studs through the holes, his brow furrowing as he negotiated them through. Strangely, you found it funny. He was a surgical resident, one of the most talented and promising, according to his colleagues, but he struggled to do the simplest insertion.   


“The flooring guys will be here tomorrow, and I’ll probably meet up with Louisa,” you answered, staring at his wedding ring.   


“If you notice anything off about the Travertine, send his ass away. We’re not paying for substandard work. I don’t care if he’s Lou’s friend or not.”  


“Mark-“  


He took two steps towards you, planting his hand on your hip to give you a quick kiss. Winking, he squeezed the pad of the same hip, nuzzling your neck, causing a lump to form in your throat.   


“That new gym is finally open down the street,” he told you in a teasing voice. “Why don’t you set us up with a membership?”  


With another squeeze to your side, he released his hold on you, not even noticing the tears in your eyes. After ten years, what used to be a joking comment now pierced your heart and your self-esteem, and you stood there frozen as he called out a goodbye, the door to the garage closing with a thunk. You stood there for so long that your coffee was lukewarm by the time you came back to yourself, taking it with a shaking hand and carrying it over to the kitchen table.   


You’d always been curvy. Not heavy, just curvy. You were built with an hourglass shape, and no matter how much you starved yourself or exercised, you would always have hips, an ass, and bigger breasts. It used to be something he liked about you, but now…  


Like you’d done a hundred times over the last few weeks, you opened up your iPad, selecting the Facebook app, and typing in a name. _Her_ name. The one he was having an affair with.

* * *

  
Mark was a good-looking guy, but that wasn’t what drew you to him all those years ago. No, it was his intelligence and drive. While other guys in college were getting shitfaced and chasing every female they saw, he spent his time in the library studying. He never went anywhere without a book, nose deep in either schoolwork or pleasure reading. In fact, you and he had been in two classes together before he ever picked up on the fact that you were interested him, dropping hints like anvils on the Road Runner. Finally, you’d just asked him out, and even now, you could picture the startled look on his face, like he’d just figured out that you were a girl and not just his lab partner.  


His will to be a doctor never faltered, but mixed in with exams, graduation, getting his medical degree was a relationship that you built your life and future on, and now, as you looked at the one picture that haunted you, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.   


Blonde hair that was set in one of those messy, ‘gee I’m so casual but this look cost me an hour of my morning’ buns, a cute little button nose, and a figure that was the complete opposite of yours. Slim and straight, wearing a crop top, daisy dukes, and duck lips, this girl haunted your dreams and made you feel like a piece of shit, because she was sleeping with your husband, and had been for at least the last four months.   


Damned near every waking thought you had revolved around her. What she sounded like, how she smelled, if she and Mark laughed about how stupid and clueless you were that they’d been carrying on an affair right under your nose. You knew you needed to just confront him about it, but the masochist in you had taken over and you’d paid one of those websites that you always saw advertised online that could get you information on anyone for $39.95.  


Once you had a name, you also found out that she was married, too, and your heart ached for her poor husband, who probably didn’t know, either. A scorned woman is a dangerous thing, probably the most dangerous person in the world, and over the previous week, you’d had Mark and Amber followed by a private investigator, documenting every meetup, every sext, every interaction that they had, and you were going to finally going to end things with Mark and file for divorce when he returned from his conference/not-so-secret getaway with his girlfriend.   


But first, you wanted to see him, the husband that she was screwing around on. P.I. Joe Welsh had told you that his name was Negan and that he was a gym teacher at the high school in the next town over. Negan was an odd name, and you’d pictured some poor 98 lb goober that was cuckolded by his asshole of a wife, probably desperate to hold onto such a young, duck-lipped, skinny chick.  


Closing the app, you headed upstairs, showering and putting on your makeup, trying to find just one good, attractive thing about yourself in the mirror. Three weeks ago, you would’ve been satisfied with your eyes, your lips, your nose. You would’ve run your hands softly over your hips and thighs, and you would’ve liked the way that your breasts filled out a sweater. Now, all you could see was what Mark no longer desired, and you hated it. You hated him for hurting you so severely.  


There was no plan in place as you drove to Edison High School, following the directions as your phone spit them out. It wasn’t like you were going to march up to this Negan guy and announce to him that his wife was fucking your husband. You just wanted to see him, to know that there was someone else out there that was being screwed over. Buses were snaking along the road in front of you, carrying students towards their ultimate destination, and you followed behind slowly, ignoring the stares and pointing fingers of the teenagers in the back of the bus in front of you. God, you hated kids that age.  


When the sign for the staff parking lot came into view, you followed the arrow, turning right and parking your car in the back row near the grass, just underneath one of the lights, cutting the engine. The lot was half-filled, mostly with little sedans and SUVs, and you studied the men and women that were clustered outside the doors, talking together.   


Most of the men were middle-aged, wearing khaki pants and button-down shirts, carrying around little potbellies and the air of defeat. None of them looked like they taught gym, but you obviously didn’t know what this Negan looked like. Amber’s profile was private, and all you knew is his name and profession. It felt wrong and stalkerish, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, too obsessed with revenge and wrecking her life the same way she’d ruined yours.   


A bell rang, signaling the start of the day, and you settled back in your seat, staring blindly out into the adjacent field. There was a dirt track around the edges, and you fiddled with your phone, going back and forth on whether or not to just leave, when you heard a whistle, making you jump. You sat up, squinting when you saw a group of boys come jogging around the corner of the brick building, your heart thumping rapidly as a man brought up the rear, his right arm flailing wildly. Was it him?  


It was too far away to get a good look, but the man had black hair and was wearing a tracksuit, pointing the runners towards the south, and you watched intently as he turned his back towards you, crossing his arms. He was tall, that much was apparent. He dwarfed every kid out on the track, and he had broad shoulders, the material seeming to strain against them. Definitely not what you expected, and you let out a long breath, watching him with hawk eyes.   


He never moved from his position, and it was only when a cop car made a slow circle through the staff parking lot that you decided to leave, not wanting to get arrested for loitering at a school like a pervert. You started your car, following behind the cruiser towards the field, allowing you a closer look at the stranger, and you almost gunned your car when he turned as you drove past, scaring the hell out of you. He was really handsome from what you could see, your chest throbbing in anxiety as you continued on, stealing a glance in your rearview mirror to see him still looking your way.   


If that was him, you were even more confused than you were before. Why would a girl married to a guy that looked like that cheat on him? Was he just an asshole, or an abuser? Maybe he lost his dick in a freak volleyball accident, and they never had sex. Well, whatever the reason, his wife was now on her way to Portland with your husband, and you were reaching your breaking point. You decided to return at the end of the school day and try to confirm if that guy was Negan.  


There was an outlet mall not far from the high school, so you spent the morning and afternoon eating pretzels and blowing up your credit card, buying anything and everything that caught your eye. A new purse, heels and boots, and enough outfits to clothe a small army. _I mourn, therefore I shop._  


After eating your feelings and trying to buy away your sadness, you drove back to the school, parking in the same spot since it was still free, chewing on your thumbnail as your conscience tried to get through to you, begging you to just go home. But you couldn’t. Nothing was waiting for you there. Just an empty house, a bottle of wine, and a Facebook picture of a girl that was everything that you weren’t.  


As students came streaming out of every door, you slumped down in your seat, watching door 12 for any sign of the dark-haired man, but he didn’t come out for another hour, and by then your bladder was about to burst. The urge to confront him took a backseat to your discomfort, and your eyes unfocused as he strode over to a huge black truck with purposeful movements.   


Cursing to yourself, you started your car, pulling out when he went careening out of his spot, just telling yourself that you were going to follow behind him until he got to his house. You’d memorized Amber’s address already, so if that’s where he ended up, you would finally know that this guy was her husband and you could maybe leave an anonymous note or something, giving him a head’s up that his wife was a two-timing asshole.  


He drove like a bat out of hell, shooting out of the drive into the heavy traffic that was passing by the school, and you almost caused an accident to try to keep pace with him. Stealthy, you were not, and you almost lost him once you got to the intersection, blowing through the red light as other drivers laid on their horns. Mark wasn’t worth dying over, that much you knew, but you had to be sure. Why your path forward hinged on this man, you definitely couldn’t put your finger on, but you were about ready to call it quits when he pulled into a bar, parking by the front door.   


On the verge of tears and also wetting yourself, you passed by the drive, turning into the gas station that was right next to it, throwing the car into park. Not bothering to grab your purse, you locked the doors, walking swiftly into the store.  


“Bathroom?” you were out of breath and almost out of time when the girl behind the counter pointed behind you. The sign for women’s room directed you through the aisles of candy and chips, and you burst through the door, locking it and sitting down with a whimper. You peed for a good thirty seconds, letting out a sigh of relief, finally washing your hands and muttering when there were no paper towels to dry them with.   


Wiping them on your pants, you moseyed back out into the store, offering a soft thank you to the girl, coming to a stuttering stop when you went to head back to your car, finding the man leaning against it with one raised eyebrow.  


He looked you up and down curiously as you stared back at him in shock, and he crooked his index finger, beckoning you towards him. You felt like you’d stepped directly into quicksand, and your upper body actually turned back towards the store.  


“Hey,” he called out, his voice a deep baritone that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t menacing, merely inquisitive, and you took one shuffling step forward, eyes wide. “Care to tell me why you’re following me?”  


“I…what?”  


“I _said_ ,” the man righted himself, closing the distance as he gazed down at you, placing his hands on his hips. Oh, he was definitely tall and built like a linebacker, and you swallowed hard, terrified down to your soul. “Care to tell me why you pulled that asinine move back there to follow me?”  


“I- I’m not f-“ you stumbled over your words, feeling like an idiot, but never in a million years did you expect to walk out and see this guy leaning against your car. “I wasn’t following you.”  


“Sure you were,” he said good-naturedly, showing perfect white teeth as he smiled down at you. “And I’m curious as shit to know why, so either start talking or I’m calling the cops.”  


_Fuck._  


“You- I-, you’re crazy,” you stuttered, taking a step back, and he kept pace with you, cocking his head to the side. “Look, I don’t-“  


“Let’s go,” he said, taking your elbow in his giant hand and leading past your car, over the weeds, and curb to the bar. Your brain was screaming at you to run, to do anything but allow this total stranger to drag you off, but your body wasn’t listening. No, it was letting this guy take you around the corner of the bar to the door, ushering you into the dimly lit space that was nearly empty, save for a few older guys that sat at the bar near the kitchen, nursing some glasses of beer.   


He kept ahold of your arm, marching you to a booth in the back right next to a jukebox, planting you in the seat as he hovered over you. “Don’t move,” he ordered, stalking back to the bartender, exchanging a few words and returning with two bottles of Budweiser. He took the bench across from you, setting one of the beers in front of you, and you could hear your own blood pumping in your ears, your gaze drifting down to the gold band on his ring finger.  


When you finally glanced back up, he was watching you with a smirk, and he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. A sigh of satisfaction blew through his lips after he swallowed, and he set the beer down, appearing to purposely miss the coaster.  


“Listen,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if your kid goes to my school or maybe your niece or nephew, but-“  


“What?” you cut in, thoroughly bewildered by the turn your day had taken. What was he talking about?  


“I saw you at the school,” he said slowly, speaking to you like you were dense. “ _Twice_. And I don’t know if you were there because you have a kid enrolled, a sibling or something, but stalking isn’t smart. It’s a dangerous hobby to have. You don’t know who I am. I could be an ax murderer or something. If you’ve got a little crush on me, that’s cool and all, I'm not judging, but I’m married.”  


“What’s your name?” you blurted out, your fingers closing around the beer that he’d set in front of you, ignoring the way he began to eye you warily.   


“Huh? You don’t know my name?”  


“No. What is your name, goddamnit?”  


“It’s Negan.”  


You began to laugh and cry at the same time, and his eyes got wide in alarm. “Shit, you’re not an escaped mental patient or something are you?”  


The laughing continued, and you used your free hand to wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes, finally taking three huge gulps of your beer, slamming it down angrily.  


“No, I’m not an escaped mental patient,” you rasped, shutting your eyes as you exhaled. “I’m the wife of the guy _your_ wife is sleeping with.”  


Nothing but silence met you, and you were thankful. You were hanging on by a thread, and you knew you’d just put a razor right to it. 


	2. Dazed and Confused

As the silence continued, the fact that you’d blurted out such a devastating truth began to make you tremble. It was a really shitty thing to do to someone, but the revelation that you were in fact sitting with the husband of the woman that had been sleeping with your spouse had your brain short-circuiting. All you’d wanted to do was just figure out who the guy was. Just a face to put to the name of the other jilted party.   


Now, you’d basically just outed his wife as a cheater, and he didn’t even know who the hell you were. Slowly, your eyelids opened, and you braced for a harsh reaction. Surely the guy was upset, but you found yourself receiving a bland look instead. In fact, now you weren’t even sure you’d said the words out loud.   


Wiping away the last of the tears, you quickly told him your name, but he cut you off with merely the raise of his index finger, and you sat back, nervously crossing your arms over your chest. The silence was oppressive as he studied you, and you felt your body begin to heat up. It wasn’t just that he was very nice looking, because he was. But there was something behind his eyes that was penetrating you, scanning you like an x-ray, and you couldn’t seem to break free from his eyes. Mark’s were a pale blue, and this Negan’s were dark brown, almost black. It was like falling into a black hole, and he finally looked down at your ring finger, breaking the hold he had on you. It allowed you to reach for the Bud, draining it down and setting the bottle back with a gasp.  


The lack of conversation dragged on, enough that you started to slide to the side of the bench to leave when he cleared his throat. His face still gave nothing away, but you froze in the middle of rising, plopping back and opening your mouth.  


“Look, Mrs. Smith,” he said, leaning forward. “I don’t know who you are or who your husband is, and I can appreciate that you’re going through some shit, but you’ve got the wrong fucking guy, okay? My wife isn’t having an affair with your husband. She’s-“  


“In Portland right now?” you cut him off, noticing a flicker of doubt cross his face. “Did she leave this morning?”  


“So?”   


“So, she’s on the way there with Mark. I’m sorry that I told you like this, but…”  


Negan edged closer to you, so much so that he was half-standing, and his nose was just inches from yours. You could smell the beer that was emanating from his breath, mixing with your own, and it was starting to turn your stomach. “Fuck you, Mrs. _Smith_ ,” he hissed, his face twisting into pure anger. “You’re dead fucking wrong, so fuck off, right fucking _now_.”  


This man was a stranger to you, yet his rage at you hurt you almost as much as knowing that your husband was literally on his way across the country to screw someone else, and you let out a whimper, scrambling from the booth and taking off at a run towards the door. Too much had happened, and the fragile ground that you’d been walking on for two weeks was now crumbling beneath you. Vaguely, you registered someone shouting behind you, but you pushed through the door and stumbled back over the cracked pavement and weeds, starting your car with shaking hands and blurry eyes.   


He hated you, and it made you sick as you hauled ass out of the gas station, nearly sideswiping a car that was turning in. What the hell were you thinking, seeking this guy out? Did you think he was going to thank you for imploding his life?   


You were lucky that you made it home in one piece, seeing how you didn’t really remember driving to your house, but when you cut the engine, you finally lost whatever little control you’d been in, slumping over the wheel and sobbing over everything that had gone wrong since the day you looked at Mark’s phone, searching for his friend Joe’s number. All you’d wanted to do was talk to his buddy to plan a surprise birthday party for him, and instead, you were confronted with hundreds of texts from his side piece, currently stored in his phone under ‘work’.  


Your phone ringing broke through your sad stupor, and you sat up, fumbling through your purse to see who it was. It was Mark, and you started to panic. What if this Negan had called his wife and told her, and now Mark knew that you knew? Your palms were sweaty as you debated on whether or not to answer, finally pressing the green button.   


“Babe? Are you there?”  


“…yeah,” you choked out, and it was clear that you’d been crying from how stuffy your nose sounded.  


“Shit, are you getting a cold?”  


Jesus fucking _Christ._  


“I don’t know,” you snapped, opening the car door and shutting the garage. You’d sat in your vehicle for so long that it was now almost dark, and you could hear the sound of other voices in the background, making you wonder if one of them was _her_.   


“I just wanted to let you know that I landed,” he droned on, fluffing off your bitchy response. “This hotel is amazing, and I’ve already networked with a few doctors that work on this side of the country. I’ll be heading out to dinner shortly, so I wanted to check-in with you.”  


“Have fun. I’m heading to bed,” you announced, cutting him off as he started to say ‘I love you’, snorting at his fucking nerve. You were whipping back and forth between anger and apathy, and you tossed your phone onto the counter after setting it to ‘do not disturb’.   


Your house was way too big for just the two of you, but Mark said that you needed to live large in order to impress, and you’d gone along with it, knowing how hard he’d worked to land the spot that he did at BridgePoint. His mentor, Dr. Jason McGee, was the surgical attending there, and if Jason thought that something was important, then so did Mark. He seemed to want to model your lives after Jason and his wife, who lived just a few streets over. But as you wandered through the downstairs, looking at the furniture and decorations that you’d spent months obsessing over, you realized how stupid you’d been, setting your life aside just so Mark could reach his dreams. It wasn’t that you wished you hadn’t been supportive, but where were _you_ in your marriage? Where was his encouragement for you? For what you wanted? What _did_ you want?  


Jesus, you were heading down another bad road, and the only thing that you were thankful for right at that moment was the fact that you hadn’t had kids together. The last thing you’d want would be to break up a family, and for once, you were grateful that Mark had wanted to wait to start trying for a baby until he got into a fellowship.  


Deciding that you’d rather just go to bed and forget this day had ever happened, you carried a glass of wine up to your room, turning on the television and sipping on a nice Merlot, hoping that it would relax you enough to sleep. It didn’t. Instead, you spent the night both worrying that Negan had told Amber about your little stalking session and also just thinking about him in general. You didn’t know the guy from a hole in the ground, but you felt so hurt by him and hurt _for_ him that it left you tossing and turning until the light finally started glowing behind your curtain. In the midst of his anger at you, you could swear that you saw pain and hurt pass over his face, and you were the one that caused it. You just hadn’t thought about it that way when the words flew out of your mouth. You hadn’t even really thought about it when you’d pondered just writing an anonymous note to clue him in.   


He had every right to be pissed at you, and you finally rolled out of bed, getting a shower and trying to tell yourself that everything was going to be okay. Even you didn’t believe such a stupid thing, but it was enough to get you moving since Lou’s friend was due anytime to start on the entryway.   


Sure enough, Bob showed up just as you were pulling your shirt on over your head, and you hurried down the steps, letting him in.   


“Morning,” you told him as he set down a large toolbox. “Coffee?”  


“Sounds great,” he said in a cheery voice, ducking back out to set up the rest of his work station, and you made him a cup, bringing it back to his smiling face. He was a little on the younger side, but Lou said that he was one of the best contractors in Virginia, and at this point, you really didn’t even care what kind of job he did. Your plan was to call an attorney and begin filing divorce papers, so the house would be put up for sale anyway.   


As he worked, breaking up the old tile, you sat down at the kitchen table, turning your phone back on, finding two texts from Mark from the previous night asking if you were okay and that he’d call you in between his classes. You deleted the messages as well as a missed call from an unknown number, more than likely a sales call. Even though you were on the ‘do not call’ list, it didn’t stop you from receiving umpteen calls about some car warranty that was supposedly going to expire.  


While Bob was outside cutting the Travertine, you searched through divorce attorneys, finding a few to call and jotting down their numbers to reach out to once you were alone. You also looked at Amber’s fucking picture, because you couldn’t _not_ do it at least once a day. You hated her. You absolutely despised this woman that you’d never met, because she’d decimated your life, and she didn’t give a fuck.  


_-I need to see you, baby. Just tell her that you got called into the hospital._   


_-Come on, Mark. She’ll never know._

That’s not to say that you didn’t hate Mark, too. You hated him more because he took ten years of love and commitment and pissed all over it. How can people do such a thing? How can they promise to love, honor, and cherish, and then do none of those things? How can they lay next to someone that they supposedly cared about and text someone else, telling them that they wished they were in bed with them instead?  


Bob got about two-thirds of the entrance done when he decided to call it a day, and you saw him to the door, shutting and locking it behind him. Lou had checked in to see how everything was going, and you thought about telling her about Mark, but you just weren’t ready yet. You loved Louisa like a sister, but her knowing would bring her into your house for a two-hour dissection of every facet of your relationship and where it went wrong, and you just didn’t have it in you yet to have anyone else know that you’d been made a fool of.   


Instead, you made plans to meet her for lunch the following day, and also reach out to the lawyers that you’d looked up. By the time Bob left, they were closed for the day, and it wasn’t like they weren’t going to be there tomorrow. It was only Tuesday, and Mark was supposed to come back from Portland on Wednesday. You’d sent him a message halfway through the day that you’d talk to him later, hoping to avoid dealing with him for as long as possible, and he’d sent you a thumb’s up emoji.   


You’d just pulled out some food to cook for yourself since getting delivery didn’t appeal to you when there was a knock on the door. You jumped, since you obviously weren’t expecting company, and you peered through the eyehole, shocked and scared to your core to see Negan standing on your porch holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a more in-depth discussion, and the reader finds out a little more about our leading man.


	3. Steak Me Home Tonight

Well, what the hell were you supposed to do now?

The guy that literally told you to fuck off was standing on your front porch, staring at the door as if he could see through it, and you felt like you were going to be sick, actually clapping your hand over your mouth.  


“I know you’re there,” he said, making you take an automatic step back. “I saw your silhouette through your window.”  


Shit, you didn’t think about that, but you made no move to respond, and he continued talking, rubbing the back of his neck as he kept staring right at the eyehole. “I don’t blame you if you didn’t open the door, but I just wanted to apologize for acting like an asshole. I’m really sorry.”  


He stood there as you crept closer resting your hand on the doorknob, debating what to do. On one hand, he didn’t look like he had any weapons on him, and being a school teacher, you assumed he’d passed all kinds of background tests and stuff to get the job. On the other hand, you’d followed him like a freak and told him his wife as a cheater.   


After mulling it over, you decided you might as well hear what he had to say, and though you weren’t proud of it, you figured if he murdered you, at least Mark would have to live with that for the rest of his cheating life, and you flipped the lock, turning the knob slowly.  


Negan took a tentative step back as if he didn’t want to scare you, and you opened the door just enough to stick your face through, watching him warily.  


“Hi,” he murmured, wincing like it was the stupidest thing to say, given your current situation, and your eyebrows rose on their own. “Fuck, that was a dumbass way to start.”  


“Uh…”  


He extended the bouquet of flowers towards you, and you cracked the door open a little wider, reaching for them and glancing down. You couldn’t remember the last time you received flowers when it wasn’t your birthday or anniversary, and you held them to your chest, glancing back up to see him looking at you with that damned curious gaze again.   


“Listen, Mrs. Smith,” he began and it made you roll your eyes.   


“Please don’t call me that,” you said with a little bite. “That’s not going to be my name much longer.”   


“Well, shit. This isn’t going the way I planned at all,” he smirked, seemingly unbothered by the attitude being thrown his way. After addressing you by your first name, he took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I really just wanted to apologize for acting like a prick yesterday. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no matter what the circumstances were, and I’m really disgusted at myself.”  


Him unloading on you had hurt you more than he probably realized, but you knew you’d brought it on yourself, and you finally stepped all the way out onto the porch, resting your shoulder against the doorjamb.  


“It was a dick move of me to seek you out,” you told him, and he smiled. “I don’t blame you for flipping out on me, Negan. I mean, we’d never met, and then I’m chasing you down and dropping a whopper of shitty information on you. So, I’m sorry, too.”  


He was really tall, and you felt like a tiny child standing in front of him, clutching the flowers to you like they could protect you from all the ills of the world, but you didn’t perceive any threat from this man. Sure, Ted Bundy was somewhat attractive, but nothing about this Negan dinged any alarm bells, though you felt compelled to ask him another question.  


“Uh, I know this is probably the most hypocritical question ever asked, but…how did you find me?”  


His eyes dimmed just a little bit, and he sighed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck again.  


“As soon as you stood up, it dawned on me how fucking much I’d hurt you. My mouth sometimes runs faster than my brain, and I followed you to apologize to you, but you booked it to your car and took off. Honestly, it scared the shit out of me, how erratically you were driving, and I trailed you back here just to make sure that you didn’t get into a wreck. When I saw you’d made it home okay, I left, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about what I did. What you said.”  


Throwing caution to the wind, you decided to invite him in, accepting that you probably owed him a little more information if he wanted it, and he walked in behind you, immediately squatting down to look at the partially finished floor.  


“This is some quality stone,” he said, running his thumb along one of the exposed edges. “Whoever’s putting this in has great technique.”  


When he glanced up, he broke out into a full-fledged grin, hoisting himself back up. “I worked as a contractor to put myself through college. I can always appreciate good, solid labor.”  


“A friend of a friend is working on it,” you explained, leading him through the living room into the kitchen, offering him a seat at the table as you put the flowers in a vase that you had under the sink. He’d been pretty obvious about checking the house out, and you rested your backside against the stove, conveniently close to the butcher’s block just in case he did turn out to be a psycho.  


“Quite a pile of bricks you’ve got here.”  


“Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?”  


He waved off your offer, and you ended up in an uncomfortable silence until you finally gestured to the food. “Do you mind if I…”  


Negan shook his head, and you opened the vegetables that you’d taken out of the fridge, cleaning and chopping them as he watched. It was unnerving, having a stranger watch you cook, but you kept your head down until he cleared his throat, and you looked up, your knife poised above the onion that was half-cut.  


“I met Amber at a really low stretch in my life,” he said, choosing to focus on the knife instead of your face. “I’d just lost my wife a few months before, and I wasn’t really in the best state of mind at that point.”  


“I’m sorry,” you said it quietly, but the sincerity behind it made his head rise. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”  


“She was a fucking gem, my Lucille,” he said proudly. “We were high school sweethearts, and she was the best person I’d ever met. We got married right out of college, and life was fucking good for a lotta years, you know?”  


Yes, you knew, because you’d done the same damned thing, and you nodded, setting the knife aside to give him your full attention.  


“Anyway, she started getting really tired all the time. Just no energy and no desire to do anything. At first, we thought she just had the flu or something, but it just lingered. She lost interest in pretty much everything, including, uh,” he paused, looking away. “Including sex.”  


You weren’t sure what to say, but he kept talking, because maybe telling a stranger was just a way to deal with it.   


“Me, being me, I went and had an affair. It didn’t last long, and I ended it after a few weeks. I was just gonna take the secret to the grave, right? Just carry the guilt with me, but then a few days after, Lucille sat me down when I got home from class and told me that she knew.”  


Hearing this made your heart break for a woman you never met because you couldn’t imagine the strength that it took to call him out on it, especially if she wasn’t feeling well.   


“I’d never seen her so hurt and disappointed, and for as long as I fucking live, I’ll never forget the look on her face as she sat there. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, and she had just one lone tear on her cheek. I’d betrayed the best friend I’d ever had, all because I decided that she wasn’t paying me enough attention.”  


Instinctively, you went over to the cupboard, getting a glass and filling it with water, handing it over without a word. He sucked the entire thing down, taking a staggered breath, and you wondered if he’d ever talked about this before with anyone.  


“I got down on my knees and begged her forgiveness. I told her that it was just a fling and it meant nothing to me. And that saint of a fucking woman managed to do it. She got past it. At least, I think she did, and we continued to try to repair our marriage. I went with her to counseling, I stopped hanging out at the bar after work, but a few months later, she was out working on the flowers in front of our house and she passed out.”  


Gingerly, you perched on the chair across from him, but he didn’t turn to face you. He just kept his gaze on the island where your vegetables lay abandoned.   


“She was gone less than three months later,” he was barely audible, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. “She was just…gone.”  


As he zoned out, you studied him. His shoulders had sagged down, and the way his eyes closed and his head dipped down had you feeling so profoundly sad for him that you had to fight back the urge to throw your arms around him and assure him that everything was going to be all right.   


For all of the pain that you thought you were experiencing, you had nothing on this man, and once again, the guilt of bringing even more into his life was excruciating. What had you done?  


“I’m so very sorry,” you said again, because what else could you possibly say? _Nothing_ would be adequate enough.  


It took several minutes until he turned to look at you, and the sadness in his face was almost physically painful.   


“The reason I told you is because I saw the exact same fucking look on your face yesterday when I cussed you out, and I can’t tell Lucille I’m sorry ever again, but I can tell you.”  


Time went into a vacuum as you absorbed his words, getting lost in those dark brown eyes again, and it wasn’t until your hand smacked down against the table that you were jolted free. Negan shook his head, clearing his throat, and you stood up, going to the fridge and taking out two steaks that were wrapped and ready to cook.   


“I should go,” Negan rose, and you came over, blocking his path with one of the steaks.   


“Please stay,” you asked, your voice cracking uncomfortably. “Have dinner with me, at least.”  


He searched your face, scrutinizing you in a way that felt incredibly intimate, before finally just going back to his chair and sitting down. You let out a little sigh of relief, returning to your spot after asking your Alexa to play some music to break the tension. Once you got out your cast iron pan, you went into the wine pantry, taking out a fresh bottle and inclining your head as you held it out along with an opener. Negan took it from out, popping out the little cork and pouring into the two glasses that you’d set on the table.  


Returning to the island, you opened the steaks and pinched off a stem of rosemary from one of your plants, placing it next to the steaks. Negan brought you over one of the glasses, and you took a sip, relishing the sweet taste, humming under your breath to the song that was playing.   


“Can I help at least? I feel like a dick just sitting there watching you.”  


You smiled, handing him the butter and the steaks, and he went over to the stove, preparing the entree to be cooked. Strangely enough, you felt comfortable bustling around your kitchen with him, and he trimmed the meat with one of the knives as you continued to chop the vegetables, setting a plate of onions next to the stove with another pan, moving onto finish the salad.   


The aroma of the steak began to fill the kitchen, and for the first time in a long while, you were hungry. The past two weeks you’d existed in a state of near-constant anxiousness, and you’d barely eaten, so you nibbled on a few carrots, finally going and grabbing a few bottles of dressing and steak sauce from the fridge, taking them out to the patio.   


As Negan turned off the stove, you gave him two plates so he could add steak for each of you, and you showed him outside, jumping when he let out a loud whistle.   


“Damn, an inground pool, too?”  


“Came with the house,” you shrugged, embarrassed.   


“Nothing to be ashamed about, dollface.”  


The moniker sent a stabbing shot of heat down your spine, and you felt your face start to burn.  


“Sorry, did I go too far?”  


“No, it’s better than you calling me Mrs. Smith,” you shot back, feeling the heat increase at the wide smile you received, finally sitting down in the cushioned chair. He followed your lead, placing one of the steaks in front of you, and you gave yourself a healthy portion of the salad, ladling an obscene amount of dressing on it, quirking your lips as he shook his head.   


“So, what class do you teach?”   


You moved your fork around the lettuce, mixing the dressing in as you waited for the meat to rest, and Negan loaded a huge pile of greens next to his. He chose the Italian dressing, drizzling it over the salad as he spoke.  


“I teach phys ed, and I coach the boys' track team.”  


“Good on you,” you muttered. “I hate kids that age.”  


“They can be assholes, but I enjoy it. Once in a while, you feel like you make difference in a kid’s life, and it’s worth it. I’ve had some troubled students, and sometimes running or sports is the only outlet they have. If you can redirect some of their energy, it pays off tenfold.”  


“I didn’t mean to be dismissive-“  


“It takes a lot to offend me, despite my first impression,” Negan chortled, spearing a huge chunk of lettuce and stuffing it in his mouth. Mark would’ve cut it into tiny pieces, you thought, and you took a small bite of your own. “It’s a calling, I imagine, and I had a teacher like that in school. Changed my whole trajectory.”

“And I guaran-fucking-tee that teacher will never forget you. It’s why we do what we do.”  


You kept the conversation focused on him as you ate, and the food went down easily, allowing you to let out a satisfied sound when you set your fork down on your empty plate. “The steak was amazing. That’s the first good meal I’ve eaten in a while.”  


Negan rose, collecting all of the dirty dishes, and you carried the condiments back in, putting the kitchen back in order before taking the wine back out to the patio and turning on the pool lights, giving the back yard a bit of ambient light.   


The two of you moved over to the lounge area, and you curled up at the opposite end, watching the surface of the water ripple back and forth. Summer was just around the corner, and you knew you’d miss this place when you’d have to sell it. Despite the fact that Mark had pressured you into taking it, the backyard was simply spectacular, and since you spent so much time alone here, it had become your refuge.   


“Mark and I met in college,” you sipped at your wine, and Negan turned to face you. “He was a junior and I was a sophomore. He was…so unlike all the other guys. He was focused and serious. He knew what he wanted and he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way. No fraternities, no partying his ass off. He just went to class and studied. It was refreshing.”  


Your fingers started playing with your wedding band, turning it in a slow circle. Reliving the past was bittersweet, and Negan didn’t pressure you to continue.  


“I finally just had to ask him out because if I didn’t, he never would’ve asked me. That’s just the way he was. Oblivious. But once it clicked in his head, he learned to find a little balance for a while. We dated for the rest of school, and he graduated at the top of his class and got into the Georgetown M.D. program. I was so proud of him, and I was happy to support him.”  


“Pretty fucking impressive.”  


“I set my goals aside and put him through school,” You couldn’t help the bitterness that permeated your voice. “We had a small wedding and slogged through our lives. He studied non-stop and my life revolved around him. Again, I was happy to do it,” you added, since you probably sounded like a bitch.   


“I paid the bills, I helped him study. I did everything, and the whole time, he sold me on how all of his hard work was going to pay off. He told me that once he got through his residency, we’d take vacations- we’d finally have a honeymoon. We’d have a _life_.”  


“No offense, but he sounds like a selfish prick,” Negan interjected and your eyes widened as he grinned. “Trust me, I’d know.”  


“He started his emergency medicine rotation a few months ago, and that’s when he started to change.”  


“Change how?”  


“Mark was never superficially interested in his appearance,” you muttered. “He’s handsome, but it’s not like he was really aware of it, I don’t think. All of a sudden, he’s bringing home exercise equipment and buying fancier clothes. It was just weird, but I chalked it up to peer pressure or something because I’m an idiot. I just thought that he was trying to keep pace with the other doctors. It didn’t occur to me that there was someone else.”  


Negan’s jaw tightened, and your mouth snapped shut, waiting for him to give you the okay to continue. You weren’t sure how much he really wanted to know, but he regained control rather quickly, indicating that you should proceed. You told him about finding a bunch of texts on Mark’s phone when you were making plans for his surprise birthday party, and his face went pale, but he nodded once. You didn’t make the connection about his past, and you carried on with your story.  


“I just remember sitting there while he slept, reading each and every goddamed word, thinking that if I got struck by lightning or tossed into acid, it would hurt less than knowing that the man I’d vowed to be with for the rest of my life was fucking around behind my back.”  


_-I miss your lips, Bambi. I love the way they look wrapped around my dick._  


_-I’m laying in bed, and I wish you were here with me._

“I didn’t want to believe it, but it was all there in black and white. He- it’s been going on for at least four months,” you said, your eyes filling with tears, and you covered your face with your hand. “I’m so fucking stupid.”  


You hated crying over Mark, and you hated that you were doing it in front of someone else, but it hurt so goddamned much. Knowing that you meant less to the man you loved than some stranger he’d met at the hospital was a blow that knocked the wind out of you.   


“I’m sorry,” you wiped your eyes, shuddering. “I’m so sorry that I told you, and maybe you didn’t want to know-“  


“Listen, dollface,” Negan scooted closer to you, letting his hand rest next to your knee. “I’m fucking hurt and betrayed, don’t get me wrong, but you did the right thing by telling me. After what happened with Lucille, being on the other side of it sucks, but you’re way worse off than me. Don’t be ashamed to fucking cry and lose your shit. You’re allowed to.”  


“I had him followed,” you blurted it out like you were confessing to murder, and Negan rocked back in surprise, nearly dropping his glass of wine.   


“What?”  


“I had him followed. I needed to know for sure, and..”  


“And?” he asked after a protracted silence.  


“I have pictures.”  


Negan stood up, pacing around the edge of the pool, and you curled into a ball, watching him. You had no idea what was going through his head, but it probably wasn’t sunshine and puppy dogs. He started muttering under his breath, the words getting louder until it was just a steady stream of cuss words.   


“Fucking fuckity goddamned, shit-stirring, cunt blasting, cocksucking son of a whore!”  


“I’m sorry…”  


Wheeling around, he glared at you, the fire in his eyes so intense that it burned your skin, and he snapped out of it, lurching towards you.   


“Fuck, not you,” he growled, taking out his phone and pressing twenty different buttons before finally just tossing it onto the couch. “I fucking- I’m seeing red, I’m not gonna lie.”  


“I…Mark doesn’t know I know,” you told him, biting your lip nervously. “I’m planning on filing for divorce and then telling him.”  


“How the fuck can you not want to stab that motherfucker right in the taint? How in the everloving hell are you so calm?”

“Because he doesn’t get to try to come up with some bullshit excuse,” you rose out of your seat, getting in his face. “If you want to confront your wife, there’s nothing I can do about it, but I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge. I wasted ten years of my life on that asshole. He doesn’t get my tears or my time. He doesn’t get to break my heart and try to change my mind. I’m done.”  


The only reason you stopped your little hissy fit was because you heard your phone ringing, and you ran to the kitchen, panting unsteadily when you saw it was Mark calling. Before you answered, you carried it back outside to where Negan was sucking down the rest of his wine, holding up your finger to urge him to be quiet, and you put the call on speakerphone.  


“Hello?”  


“Hey babe,” Mark’s voice carried through the night, though you could see Negan practically snarling next to you, and you sat back down on the sofa, shaking your head in disgust. “Are you feeling better?”  


“I’m starting to, yeah.”  


“This conference is so awesome,” he continued, droning on about some lecturer that you’d never heard of and his breakthroughs with heart surgery. “Anyway,” he hedged, and you gripped the phone tighter, knowing what was coming before he could say it. “They’re adding some more lecturers due to all of the attendees that showed up, so would you mind if I stayed through Friday? I’ll be back for my shift on Saturday as long as you’re okay there by yourself.”  


You were by yourself most of the fucking time anyway, and Negan opened his mouth, freezing when you shook your head vehemently.  


“What are the lectures?”  


“Great…what?” Mark sounded stumped, and you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you’d thrown him off momentarily. Even Negan smirked, catching your eye.  


“What lectures are they adding? What subjects?”  


“Oh, uh…” it took him a few seconds to come up with something plausible. “They’ve got a neurosurgeon that’s at the forefront of dementia treatment, and there’s also a pulmonology seminar that sounds interesting. You know, I said I was dead set on surgery, but I’d really like to explore my options. There are so many specialties out there.”  


_Oh, I bet you fucking do_ , you thought, narrowing your eyes.   


“Well, have fun,” you told him in an overly cheery voice. “I’ll see you on Friday, I guess.”  


“You’re the best, babe. I’ll call you tomorrow.”  


When the call disconnected, you looked skyward, praying to yourself for the strength to see your plans through and not just call a locksmith to come and change the locks to your house before Friday.  


Not even ten seconds later, Negan’s phone rang, and he sneered, hitting the speaker button.  


“Yeah?”  


“Honey, it’s me,” came the voice that you’d wondered what would sound like for two weeks. High, clear, and chirpy, you wanted to rip the phone from his hand and toss it into the pool, your body filling with lava fire, but Negan must’ve sensed your impending freakout, and he transferred the phone to his other hand, out of your reach.   


“Hey.”  


“How’s it going? I miss you,” she purred, sparking a wave of jealousy out of nowhere. Fucking whore.  


“Oh, I bet,” he muttered, nostrils flaring.   


“So, um, don’t be mad, but I think I’m going to stay until Friday,” her voice turned even more sickeningly sweet, and you stood up, walking to the edge of the pool. The fact that Amber and Mark coordinated their calls was sending you over the edge, and the blood began to plug up your ears, drowning out the rest of his conversation.   


Here you are, mourning the end of your marriage, and hurting a man that had already been through hell, even though he was partly responsible, and both of your spouses were concocting schemes to be together like they were teenagers that had successfully ditched school. Your heart was dying in your chest, while your brain was screaming at you to fly to Portland and shove your wedding ring so far up Mark’s ass that he wouldn’t shit it out for at least two years.   


Who the fuck was _he_? What right did he have to treat you like this, and more importantly, why were you _letting_ him?  


You were so far into your own head that you forgot someone else was with you, and when Negan touched you on the arm, you screamed, flailing as you turned and you snagged his wrist to try to keep from falling backward into the pool.  


All you did was succeed in taking him with you, and you both hit the water with a loud splash. 


	4. Over-the-hump Day

You ended up doing a back flop into the water which stung, but the elbow or knee that slammed into your gut hurt worse, and your mouth opened automatically while you were under, the liquid filling your lungs when you gasped for breath out of instinct. You flailed around, struggling with the overwhelming fear of choking, suddenly finding yourself upright without warning. There was pressure on your stomach and a sudden smack against your back, forcing the water out of your throat.   


Slumping in his hold, you coughed so much that you started to gag, reaching out for the ledge to steady yourself. The support from behind continued for several minutes until you were able to remain upright without assistance, but Negan moving away from you left you without his body heat, and you started shivering, turning around to face him.  


He was soaked, just like you, but you were mesmerized at the way his shirt was now clinging to his torso, showing every sculpted muscle, every curve, and it was hypnotic. His hair was hanging down over his forehead, sending rivulets of water over his face, and you weren’t sure that you were panting from nearly drowning anymore.   


Negan was very attractive, and you’d known than from the first moment that you laid eyes on them, even though you were in the middle of ending your marriage. But it didn’t stop your heart from throbbing unsteadily, though if questioned under oath, you’d say it was because you almost just drowned. While you were looking him up and down, he was doing the same thing to you, and his eyes snapped up suddenly, startling you.  


“Doll, your high beams are flashing me.”  


“What?”  


“You-,” he stuttered, staring hard at your face as he waved his hands towards you. “Just fucking look down, please.”   


Yep, your nipples were poking through your soaked bra and t-shirt, and you hastily covered your chest, feeling mortified.   


“For fuck’s sake,” you trudged towards the steps, your limbs heavy as you climbed out of the pool.   


“I’m sorry. I can’t help noticing.”  


“Wait here,” you started for the pool house, thankful that your back was to him because you were positive that your face was about ten different shades of red. The only good thing about nearly dying was that Mark wasn’t on the forefront of your mind, and you snagged an armful of towels, carrying them back out to where Negan was swiping his hands through his hair, clearing it from his forehead. He was leaning back, and you took a painful breath, tossing him two of the towels before wrapping one around your chest.  


“You need to get out of those clothes.”  


He started briefly at your words, and one eyebrow rose, but you waved him towards the house nervously. “I can’t walk around naked, dollface.”  


“I’ll get you some clothes.”  


“I’m not wearing anything of that prick’s,” Negan’s face turned cold, and you passed by him towards the house. Of course you didn’t blame him, and you scrambled to think of what else you could give him, remembering something that he could use, ridiculous as it was.  


“Just come on.”  


The water was still dripping off of the two of you as you herded him into the bathroom, shutting the door and taking off through the kitchen into the tv room. You had a feeling he wasn’t going to be happy with what you were going to offer, but if he didn’t want to wear anything of Mark’s, your options were limited. It was either this or your pink satin robe.  


Knocking on the door, it opened a crack, and you thrust the bundle into the room, retreating before he could say anything and heading upstairs to change out of your soaked outfit. The entire time you cleaned yourself up, you couldn’t stop thinking about how good-looking Negan was, and once again, you struggled to understand why Amber was choosing to spend her time with Mark over him. Purely from a physical standpoint, Negan was the clear winner. You barely had any insight into him, so you didn’t know how their personalities compared. Negan was definitely had a more colorful vocabulary than your husband, but he was also intelligent and savvy, from what you'd seen in the brief time you'd known each other. Frankly, you were still stumped, and you felt marginally guilty for thinking that Negan was a better catch, even though you were well aware that Mark was a goddamned cheating prick. Ten years of loyalty was hard to let go of, but it was time.  


When you were finally dried and somewhat presentable, you took the belt from your robe and brought it with you, heading back to the bathroom where Negan was still changing, apparently.   


“I brought you something to tie it with,” you called through the door, and it opened without warning, making you jump. A huge smile crossed your lips, and you bit your tongue as you handed it over.  


“Question.”  


“Yeah?”  


“What in the fucking fuck am I wearing?” Negan glared at you, and you started to laugh, unable to keep it in any longer.   


“One of those Snuggies that they used to sell on tv.”  


He was wearing it like a robe, and he fastened your belt around his waist to keep it closed, ignoring your repeated titters. “I have no idea what the fuck a Snuggie is, but I look like a leopard-printed divorcee from Palm Beach.”  


“You kinda do,” you agreed to his chagrin, and he picked up his sopping wet clothes out of the tub, bringing them with him as you showed him to the laundry room, stuffing them in the dryer and turning it on. It was going to take at least an hour for them to dry, so you offered him some wine, but he declined, asking for a cup of coffee instead.  


You each carried your cups back out to the patio, this time seating yourselves at the fire pit, which you lit with expertise. You spent many a night out here, watching the stars and trying to talk yourself through the loneliness of your marriage, and it showed.   


“Are you okay?”  


Nodding your head, you tucked your legs up under you, and Negan made sure he was fully covered as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t just mean the pool,” he pressed, resting his hands on his stomach. “Those two assholes calling in succession was cruel.”  


“Yes it was, and that’s why I walked away while you were talking to her. I’ve spent two weeks obsessing over your wife,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “All I could think about was what she sounded like, how she behaved, and if they were sitting around laughing about the fool that they were making of me. Of us.”  


Negan remained quiet, just letting you vent, and you shuddered in sadness and rage at the same time.   


“She’s skinny and pretty and she sounds like a bimbo, and for the life of me, I just don’t understand why he did this to me with her.”  


As soon as you said it, you realized how ignorant and hurtful you were being and you apologized.   


“I’m so sorry. That was so uncalled for.”  


“It’s okay,” he assured you. “While you were talking to that prick, all I was thinking was that he sounded like a concaved chested snoozer, and I have no fucking earthly idea what either of you sees in him.”  


“I don’t see anything in him anymore. He’s not the guy I met ten years ago. I don’t know who he is and I haven’t for a long time.”  


The pool’s cleaning system kicked on, allowing you and Negan some time to just think, and you stole glances at each other in the dim light. You desperately wanted to ask him if he was as done with his relationship as you were, but it wasn’t really any of your business. All you could do was focus on your own, and hope that he’d grant you the time to file for divorce before doing whatever the hell he was going to do with Amber.   


You hated her. You hated her name, you hated her chirpy voice, and you hated that she was across the country with Mark thinking that she’d pulled off some cool trick. Fuck her, and fuck him. They could spend the next three days screwing like rabbits and having a blast, and then she could have him forever.   


“You all there, dollface?”  


Negan finally broke the quiet barrier that had gone up between you, and you answered without thinking.  


“Do you think they’ll still want each other once they find out that we know?”  


“I don’t know. When I had an affair, the fact that it was a secret wasn’t a turn on.”  


You’d forgotten about his history, and you shut your eyes in embarrassment, but he didn’t seem fazed, only reflective.   


“I’d just wanted to feel wanted,” he continued, his voice getting softer. “It sure as shit wasn’t about love, because I loved Lucille. I just…missed the intimacy that we’d lost. If I’d known what was really going on…”  


“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such terrible memories for you,” you felt like crying because you couldn’t seem to stop hurting this man, and he gave you a heartbreakingly sweet smile.   


“You didn’t. It’s something I live with every day. The bottom line is, I don’t know what either of them were thinking when they started fucking around behind our backs, and I’m not sure that I care. It is what it is.”  


The buzzer for the dryer went off a short while later, and you retrieved his things, handing them over to get changed. It was getting late, and once he emerged, fully dressed, you walked him to the front door. He asked for your phone, punching in his number and handing it back to you.  


“I’m not going to confront her until you let me know you’re ready,” Negan said, stepping down onto the porch. You were closer to eye level and his pure kindness brought tears to your eyes, prompting you to give him an unsolicited hug. He hugged you back after a brief pause, enveloping you in the first warmth that you’d had in a long time, and you reluctantly stepped back, giving him your own number, swallowing as he added it to his cell.  


He disappeared into the dark, and you stood there as he pulled out, waving into the night as he drove away.   


You were exhausted and emotionally spent as you locked up the house, dropping into your bed with a sigh. Asleep in minutes, you were out for the entire night, and when you opened your eyes, you thought about Negan instead of Mark, wondering how he was. 

* * *

Carrying your manilla folder of information, you opened the door to Anderson and Anderson Attorneys-at-Law, second-guessing yourself with every step you took. They were the second set of lawyers that you’d called, and in a moment of kismet, the secretary told you that they had an opening that very same day. You’d jumped on the chance to just get this over with, but as you dressed and drove to their office, located in a quiet strip mall, you pondered if you were moving too fast.   
  
_Yes_ , your conscience told you, chipping away at your confidence. _You and Mark have been together for a decade. Don’t you at least owe him the chance to explain?_

_Hell no,_ your heart and brain screamed over the guilt. _He’s been cheating for FOUR MONTHS! Did he think about what this would do to you even one time?_  


No, he probably didn’t, and you steeled yourself as you checked in, perching nervously on one of the chairs in the pale blue waiting room.   


The décor was simple. Just a single portrait of a generic lighthouse and a few magazines that were at least six months old, along with a half-dozen chairs, but it was bright and clean, and you were just getting into a comfortable state when the receptionist called your name, leading you over to the office of Maryann Anderson, showing you in.  


Maryann was about your age, and she came around her desk to greet you, shaking your hand firmly, welcoming you in. You thanked her for seeing you on such short notice, and she pointed you to one of the chairs with a warm smile.  


You made idle chitchat for the first few minutes, and she was open enough to tell you that she and her husband Tom were just starting in their own practice. They’d both worked for the Teller & Associates, which specialized in corporate law, but felt their calling was in family law instead.   


Maryann had dark brown hair, pinned back on either side of her face, and instead of wearing a suit, she was dressed in a simple coral shell and white slacks. It was more casual than you’d expected, but it put you at ease. In your opinion, clothes didn’t make the man (or woman). It was the brains and personality that did, and as you told her why you needed her services, the indignation that sparked across her face on your behalf made you feel like you'd picked the right person.   


You started from the beginning, telling her about how you met, your years together both before and after the wedding, and the discovery of his affair two weeks prior. The entire time you spoke, Maryann wrote notes on a legal pad, alternately nodding or shaking her head, but not interrupting you.   


“I’m so sorry that you’re going through this,” she said when you stopped to take a breath. “I take it counseling is off the table.”  


“Never going to happen,” you asserted, fiddling with the folder in your lap. “He broke my trust and my heart. There’s no repairing that.”  


“I understand. I have to say that faced with the same situation, I don’t know if I’d be able to forgive Tom either. But I do need to tell you that in order for you to file, you must have grounds.”  


“I do.”  


“You sure do, but what I mean is, in order for it to be considered fault instead of no-fault, there has to be proof. In your case, proof of adultery. From what I’m being told, your spouse has no idea you’re filing, and without concrete evidence, if he’s so inclined, he can drag this out for a very long time.”  


You were definitely springing this on the bastard, and Mark could very well react badly. You didn’t fear him physically, as you refused to believe he’d ever lay a hand on you in anger, but his pride and ego might prompt him to make life a living hell from you, just because you were going behind his back to end your marriage. Even if he loved this Amber bitch, you knew that he could try to turn this around on you to make it seem like his straying was on you.  


“As it happens, I did hire an investigator,” you told Maryann, setting the manila folder on the desk within her reach, and she used her fingertips to pull it closer. With your nonverbal permission, she went through every picture, every printed page of text, everything. Taking copious notes, she finally ended up shutting the folder after a significant wait, tapping her pen on the yellow cover.  


“That’s very…compelling,” she said softly, catching your eye. “I’d say you definitely have grounds.”  


“How fast can we file? I want him out of the house as soon as possible.”  


“If I get on this today, I can probably have it filed tomorrow, and we can arrange for him to be served on Friday or Monday.”  


The acute relief that you felt overwhelmed you, but she cautioned you in a grave voice. “He can contest the divorce, which would slow the actual proceedings, but I believe that in the face of what you’ve provided and the damage it could cause his reputation, he may think twice. You won’t be divorced this week, but you’ll be on your way.”  


Two hours later, you stepped outside with a deep breath and an open heart. Ending your marriage wasn’t something that you were taking lightly, but Mark had broken your vows so cruelly that you couldn’t see yourself ever coming back from this betrayal. And if you were honest with yourself, you’d been going through this relationship alone for a long time. You’d had your own faults, though nothing that would’ve made what he’d done okay, but enough was enough. Life was too short to spend miserable and you wanted to be happy again.   


When you got to your car, you debated on texting Negan, but you figured he was out of work and he told you to keep him updated.   


Opening your phone, you scanned your contacts, tapping on his name and typing out a short text.  


_-I did it. I filed for divorce._

There was no response, and biting back your disappointment, you set the phone on the passenger’s seat, driving to the closest fast food place and ordering a burger, downing it as you headed home. Your phone dinged just as you turned it off, and you opened the message, frowning at the gibberish that he’d sent.  


**-Okjjjs. Im srrry tt im a pce of sht.**  


You immediately dialed his number, and when he answered, you knew he was drunk.   


“Hey, dollface,” he mumbled, sounding barely awake. There were muted voices in the background, and you started your car again, reversing out of your drive.  


“Negan, where are you? Are you all right?”  


“Fit as a fucking violin,” he snorted, the sound piercing your ear. “I’m at the bar getting shitfaced.”  


“I’ll be right there. Don’t move,” you hung up, angry at him and yourself because you were pretty sure you were the reason he was drowning his sorrows in alcohol, and you needed to make it right.   


He deserved better. You both did.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negan deserves some TLC, don't you think?


	5. Out of Bounds?

Turning into the bar parking lot, you took the spot next to the only black truck there, assuming it was Negan’s. Thankfully, it was the right place, since you hadn’t bothered to ask him where in the hell he actually was. Being here again brought you the tiniest smidgen of guilt, but you forced it down to deal with the current problem. With your purse in hand and your envelope of dirty deeds under your seat, you locked your doors, walking inside to a half-full watering hole.  


It was still light out, though no one would be able to tell from inside. Barely lit, you scanned the patrons, not seeing Negan at all, so you walked over to the bar, waiting as the guy filling drafts wandered over, requisite white towel slung over his shoulder.  


“What can I get ya?”  


“Just some water,” you set your purse on the bar, climbing onto one of the stools. “I’m looking for Negan?”  


The older man appraised you, wiggling his jaw back and forth before answering. “Are you Mrs. Dollface?”  


Your head shook in exasperation, but you answered in the affirmative, and he placed a glass of ice water in front of you along with a bowl of pretzels.   


“He’s in the bathroom. I already cut him off,” he said, wandering off to help one of the drunks that was teetering on the edge of his stool, dangerously close to falling off. An old Eric Clapton song was playing on the jukebox, and you sipped at your water while you waited for Negan to come out, jumping almost to the ceiling when a loud crash sounded through the bar.  


“Goddamnit!”  


Leaning back in your chair, you could see him on the ground, surrounded by broken glass, and you started to stand up when the bartender waved you off, heading back with a broom and dustpan. He carefully swept around drunk Negan, who was looking around like someone else had done it. When the mess was cleared away, the other man helped him up, murmuring in his ear before jerking his thumb towards you.   


Negan’s face lit up when he met your eyes, sending an unexpected surge of pleasure through your body. He stumbled forward, reaching you in just a few steps, and he leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder.  


“Thanks for comin’, dollface.”  


He smelled like beer and cologne, and you shut your eyes as you felt his breath warm your neck. You thought he might’ve fallen asleep because he didn’t move for so long, but then he jerked upright, slapping his hand on the bar. “Let’s do a shot. Nick! Two shots!”  


“Nope,” Nick told him, filling another glass with water and shoving it towards him. “Already told you you’re done for the day.”  


Negan’s face was slightly pink, and you took a deep breath, raising your hand like you were in class or something.   


“Nick, do you guys serve food?”   


He reached under the bar, handing you a stained menu, and you put your hand on Negan’s back to steady him since he’d started to sway. “We’re going to eat something greasy to soak up some of that alcohol,” you told him, ignoring the men that had begun to stare openly.  


“Nah,” Negan’s lower lip pushed out, but you stood up, turning him to face you.   


“This isn’t a discussion. We’re eating. You’re shitfaced and you need to sober up.”  


“Why bother? I’m a fucking…” he trailed off, losing his train of thought.  


You looked at the menu, ordering some fried cheese sticks and two burgers and fries, working hard to get Negan over to the back booth, and he fell into it, smacking his knee off of the table leg. “Ow.”  


His head bobbed up and down, and you went back and got the water, asking for two sodas as well. Most of the men were still watching, and you gave them a sarcastic wave before going back. Negan was heavy-lidded, entering some sort of stupor, and you just studied him as you waited for your food. Clearly everything was taking its toll on him, and you wanted to help him through this. But until he sobered up a little, you weren’t sure that trying to have a conversation with him was going to do any good.   


The food came out quicker than you thought, and you thanked Nick when he brought it over, taking a long sip of your soda. Negan mimicked your movements, even though some of the drink dribbled down his chin. Without thinking, you reached over and wiped it off, and his eyes fluttered in response.   


“Eat,” you said softly, taking advantage of the lull in the music.   


He actually listened to you, taking sloppy bites the burger and some of the fries. Hopefully, he wasn’t a puker, and you ate your second burger in as many hours, resolving to do some laps in the pool the following day to burn off the calories. Ah, fuck it. It wasn’t like you had anyone to look good for.   


When he was about halfway done with the meal, he made his way to the bathroom, coming back out a few minutes later looking peaked. He managed to make it back to the booth without stumbling, and you encouraged him to keep going, knowing that it was going to take a while for him to feel any better.   


Negan was marginally better after about a half-hour, and you pushed your plate aside, resting your elbow on the table and your chin on your hand. The desire to help him deal with his anger and hurt feelings was overwhelming, and once he was able to focus on you without his eyes shifting, you smiled sadly.  


“I don’t know if I loved her,” he mumbled, taking a deep breath. “I just know that she was there and she wasn’t like Lucille at all.”  


“That’s a bad thing?”  


“We got together when I was fucked up from losing her,” he said, the same thing that he’d expressed the day before. “She was like you said, chipper and bubbly, and she wanted to be with me. I just didn’t want to be alone.”  


You reached over the table, placing your hand over his, covering up his wedding ring. It wasn’t on purpose, it was just the closest one, and he looked down, staring at your fingers for a while. When he brought his gaze back up, you had a staggering urge to kiss him, and it dumbfounded you so much that you pulled your arm back like it had been burned. This man brought out feelings that you shouldn’t be having, yet you felt like bathing in them. His eyes were so soulful and deep, and you knew that you would be affected by him long after your tenuous connection was over.  


“We had a fight about six months ago. A real knockdown one because she wanted me to find a better paying job, but I like what I do, and she told me that I wasn’t the type of guy that girls wanted to be with forever. I wasn’t ‘marriage material’. And that shit fucking devastated me because she’s right. I have two fucking failed marriages under my belt, and I'm never gonna be more than a middle-class guy. We made up, but I can’t let go of that shit.”  


“That’s bullshit,” you hissed, and his head rocked back in shock. “Your first marriage wasn’t a failure and Amber’s fucking cheating on you. Neither is your fault, Negan. Lucille forgave you, and I bet that if she hadn’t passed away, you’d still be with her. Fuck Amber.”  


“You don’t know me, dollface. I’m loud and rude and I just-“  


“You’re right,” you interrupted him. “I don’t know you that well, but I know what I see, and just short of you abusing her or mistreating her, she’s in the wrong, not you. So fucking what if you’re loud? So fucking what if you’re rude sometimes? Most of us are. That doesn’t make what she’s said and done fair. Don’t do this,” your voice cracked with emotion. “Don’t be someone that you aren’t because of past guilt.”  


“You’re unbelievable,” he said after a moment, the tempest in his eyes so strong that you felt your mouth fill with saliva. It wasn’t said with derision. More in awe, and you smiled to hide the crappy self-esteem that wanted you to believe he was just placating you.  


“You’re allowed to be down, and it’s all right that you’re having a bad go, thanks to me fucking up your life,” you told him, talking over him when he tried to interrupt. “But you’re going to sober up and soldier on. Right now we’re Team Betrayed, but soon we’re going to be Team Living Our Best Fucking Lives.”  


Your phone started chiming, and you got it out of your purse, sending Mark an ‘I’ll talk to you later’ auto-reply. After stowing it away, you lifted your head to see Negan’s sour expression, his eyes still focused on your handbag.   


“I gotta go puke,” he slid out of his seat, going back to the men’s room. You watched him as he went, hoping that you hadn’t overstepped your bounds, but you didn’t want him to mope around. The guy that you first saw on the field at the school was filled with confidence, and he needed it back. In no universe could you see him being a failure at anything, and if he decided to leave Amber, you knew that he could have another woman with the snap of his fingers, and you really didn’t like that it bothered you so much.  


Negan came back out several minutes later, looking better, and he finished the last of the cheese sticks, signaling Nick to bring you both more water.   


It took another hour or so, but he swore that he was okay to drive, rolling his eyes somewhat playfully when you insisted on following him home. It wasn’t quite dark, and you made him promise to pull over if he felt unable to concentrate on the road. The fact that you knew his address already was information that you kept to yourself, and he wisely took it slow. Luckily, he made it in one piece, and you parked your car behind his in his drive.  


His house was just a simple brick ranch, but the lawn was well tended to and the neighborhood was idyllic. Much more welcoming than yours, since you’d only met one of your neighbors in the year or so that you’d been living there, and when he got out, you rolled down your window, poking your head out.  


He let his keys dangle in his hand as he approached, and whatever funk he’d been in was starting to dissipate.   


“Thanks, dollface.”  


“Get some sleep,” you told him with a smile, waiting until he opened the front door to his house before leaving.   


What a fucking day. Your floor was in, your divorce papers were being prepared, and you hopefully helped Negan through his existential crisis.  


By the time you got home, you were beat, and after trudging into your house, you tossed your purse onto the counter, cursing under your breath when your phone rang again. This time you answered it, and you leaned over the island, massaging your forehead as you said hello.  


“Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?”  


“I’ve been busy, Mark. I went to the grocery store, met Lou for lunch, and ran into an old friend.”  


“Who? And is the floor done?”  


“Just someone I went to high school with,” you lied, starting up the steps and kicking your shoes off by the door as you went. “The floor looks amazing. I’m really happy with it.”  


“I’ll be the judge of that,” he told you in a teasing voice, but you didn’t find it funny at all, and you snapped back at him.  


“You’ve never done a day of manual labor in your life,” you shot back. “How would you know?”  


“Whoa, babe, pump the brakes. I was just joking.”  


“Well, I don’t think it’s funny. Bob worked hard on it and he knows what he’s doing.”  


Mark exhaled loudly, and you knew that he was thinking of the right words to say that wouldn’t set you off, but you didn’t care that you sounded petulant and rude. Sleeping with another woman was much ruder.  


“Hey, are you all right? You haven’t seemed like yourself for a few weeks, and I’m worried.”  


The urge to laugh at his obliviousness was extreme, but you told yourself to just keep your mouth shut. You had to tread water for a few more days, and then you could let him know that you knew everything and he was the reason that you weren’t yourself anymore.  


“I’ll be okay,” you finally murmured, flipping on the light to your bedroom, hating the way that you wanted to cry. “I’m just going through some growing pains, I guess.”  


“It’s me, babe,” he said in a low voice. “You can talk to me.”  


_Why yes, actually. There is something wrong. The fact that you’re probably two feet from your secret girlfriend while you’re still trying to pretend that we have a functional marriage is bothering me a little. Any suggestions on how I should deal with that?_  


You wanted to scream it so badly that you threw yourself down onto the bed, curling up on your side as a choked sob broke through the silence. What little feelings you had for him were blinking like a faraway light, slowly drained of its battery, and you shut your eyes as it finally spluttered and died. 

“I’m just sad. Sad and tired, Mark.”  


“What can I do?” to his credit, he actually sounded sincere, and you wiped your face, inhaling so deeply that your lungs hurt.  


“Nothing. I’ll get through it. I just need a good night’s sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”   


* * *

The next morning, you felt worse than you had the previous few days, and all of the resolve and girl power sentiment that had buoyed you up seemed to be lacking. Your apathy kept you in bed for most of the day, finally rousing when you couldn’t avoid peeing any longer.   


When you lumbered back to bed on heavy limbs, you grabbed your phone, seeing that you had several messages, and you were surprised that they were all from Negan. You read them with a small smile, dialing his number after scrolling through his third text to call him.  


“Hey,” you said when he picked up, hearing a dog barking in the background. “Are you hungover?”  


“Nah, I feel pretty okay,” he replied. “You sound like you just woke up.”  


“I’ve been in bed all day,” you admitted. “Needed some downtime.”  


“Oh.”  


“How about you? Are you feeling any better?”  


“Yeah. I think it’s like you said. I just needed a day to wallow. Is that what you’re doing right now?”  


“Sort of.”  


“Are you having second thoughts?” Negan sounded apprehensive, and it touched you.  


“No, I’m not, but it doesn’t change the fact that I go up and down.”  


“Well, Miss Live Our Best Lives,” he said, using a take-charge voice, since you were obviously the one that needed a little tough love today, “any chance you want to crawl out of your bed and go to the Nationals game?”  


“A baseball game?”  


“Would you rather sit in your comically large house and throw yourself a pity party?”  


You snorted out loud, sitting up.   


“No, Coach Negan, I guess not.”  


“Good. Meet me at Due South, and we’ll pregame before the actual game with a decent meal.”  


It was already after three, and he wanted to meet up at five, so you jumped in the shower, washing away as much of your melancholy as you could, putting on a decent face, and leaving your hair loose. Buried in the back of your closet was a Nationals shirt, and you paired that with a some jeans and tennis shoes since you’d be doing some walking, leaving a little after four.   


Due South was right on the river, and you’d been there before, though it had been some time. You and Mark had gone to a few games back in the early days of your relationship, meeting up with some other couples that you were friends with. You weren’t really a baseball nut, but you enjoyed the game well enough, and hell, any sporting event was fun to see live.   


A shimmer of excitement pool in your belly when you managed to find a good parking spot, checking your hair and face before joining the streams of people that were milling around the docks. Negan was standing under the flags just outside the front entrance, and your face broke out into a happy grin when he spied you, smiling back just as widely.   


“Hey, dollface,” he greeted you, giving your shirt an approving nod. He was dressed in a navy blue shirt with the signature ‘W’ just over the heart, a pair of jeans, and black boots, and you felt your palms get damp. _Mark? She chose Mark over this?_  


“You ready to get your grub on?”  


“Show me the way,” you replied, wrinkling your nose at him.  


True to its name, Due South served Southern-style food, and Negan had planned ahead, making a reservation. You were led to a table outside, taking advantage of the beautiful late spring day. The breeze blowing off of the water was refreshing, and the two of you perused the menu, deciding to share some nachos for an appetizer. Negan ordered the brisket and you went with the trout. Neither of you got any alcohol, instead sipping at tea.  


The greatest thing about the dinner besides the food was the fact that you didn’t talk about Amber and Mark. You just bullshitted about yourselves, and he told you that the dog barking in the background when you’d called him earlier was his.   


“He’s an English bulldog, and he’s just the shit,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he showed you a picture on your phone.  


“He’s adorable,” you agreed, smiling at his smushed up face and lolling tongue. “What’s his name?”  


“Fletch.”  


“Like the movie?”  


“Holy shit, you know that movie?” Negan’s face lit up, and it knocked the wind out of you. There was something so open and unassuming about him at that moment that brought back that urge to kiss him. You felt an almost unassailable need to know what his lips felt like against yours, how his body would line up with your own that it was as essential to you as oxygen right then.  


“Oh, yeah, Chevy Chase,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “It’s hilarious. A classic.”  


If he sensed any change in you, he didn’t mention it, and when your food arrived, you dug in, hoping to just power your way through it. It didn’t take long for you to get your control back, and when they brought the bill, you insisted on paying. He argued, even going so far as to try to snatch the check out of your hand and threaten the waiter if he took your card, but you shoved it at the poor kid, and he beat a hasty retreat.  


“You bought the tickets, I bought dinner. Even Steven.”  


Negan grudgingly thanked you, and you followed him out, navigating the throngs of fans that were all trying to enter through the front gates. He’d managed to score you seats right along the first baseline, and once you were settled, a childish excitement took over as you watched the home team warm-up, clapping along to the cheers and music.   


When the hot dog vendor came around, you asked him for two and some drinks, handing Negan one of each and taking a big bite, even though you’d just eaten.   


“What?” you asked when you saw that he was just watching you. “You can’t come to a baseball game and not get a hot dog.”  


Shaking his head with a smirk, he took a huge bite of his own, and it was so low that you could barely hear it, but you did.  


“I could get used to this.”  


So could you.  


Once the game started, most of your chitchat was dedicated to the team, and you both added your cheers and jeers as the game went on, ending up standing with everyone else as the final batter came up, the game tied at seven apiece.   


There were two runners on base, and you groaned when Zimmerman got two consecutive strikes, the atmosphere electric. The Braves pitcher then threw two balls in a row, and as the crowd clapped and hollered, the batter swung at the next pitch, the crack as loud as a gunshot, and you grabbed Negan’s arm, screaming as the ball soared into the right outfield stands.   


You were jumping up and down, your voice hoarse as he crossed home plate, high fiving the guy next to you and stomping your feet. The Nats all streamed into the field, saluting the crowd, and you fell back into your chair, smiling from ear to ear. It was a hell of a game, and you were positive that you needed more experiences like this.  


Negan sat down next to you, asking if you wanted to stay for the fireworks, and you nodded your head enthusiastically, wanting to prolong the night for as long as possible. Sparkly white, bright red and green, it was like the fourth of July as you and almost everyone else in the stadium stared up into the sky, watching in awe.   


It was well after ten when you finally got up to head out, and you let Negan take the lead, filing up the steps like ants. When you reached the thoroughfare, he ended up an arm’s length away from you, and you kept your eyes on him, accidentally running into another man. He was clearly drunk, and you stumbled back apologizing.   


He wasn’t more than twenty, and he sneered drunkenly at you, focusing on your chest as he held his arms out to keep you from edging around him. Taking a few steps back, you looked around his side for Negan, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.   


“Get out of my way.”  


“Hey, hey, hey, sugar tits,” his words were slurred, and you glanced around, looking for anyone that could tell you were being harassed. “Lift up your shirt and we’ll call it even.”  


You took a step to the right, and the guy grabbed your arm, jerking you nearly off your feet. He reeked of body odor and alcohol, but before you could let out a scream, he was slammed to the ground, taking you with him. You landed on your knees, sending a stab of pain up your legs, and you wrested your arm free, plopping back on your butt as it finally sunk in what was happening.  


Negan had jumped the drunk and was pounding his face, both fists flying as the man tried to shield himself. A crowd gathered, and a few men hauled him off as pure rage poured out of him, stunning you. This wasn’t the affable, even downtrodden Negan that you’d seen over the past few days. This was pure power and masculine energy, and you were so caught up in it that you couldn’t even get back to your feet.  


“Don’t _ever_ touch a woman without her permission, you dickless wonder,” he swore, spewing out a few more choice words at the now whimpering pile of body parts.   


There were a few security guards closing in fast, and you clambered to your feet, catching Negan’s eye. He calmed himself down enough for the guys holding him to let him go, and he took your hand firmly, guiding you into the crowd, away from the spectacle and the guards that were getting closer.  


You mutely kept pace with him, glancing back over your shoulder to see if you were being followed, but the crowd had blended in around you, giving you cover, even though some of the people that had witnessed that debacle were murmuring and pointing.   


Once you were almost back to the restaurant, Negan pulled you aside, positioning you against the wall, still holding your hand. “Are you okay?”  


“Yeah,” your voice wavered as you took a breath. “I accidentally rammed into him, and…”  


“That doesn’t give him license to put his fucking hands on you.”  


“I know. It’s not the first time some guy’s asked me to show him my tits.”  


Negan’s nostrils flared, and you reached down with your free hand, wiping some of the grime off of your jeans. He bent down to make sure there weren’t any rips or blood, but you were pretty sure you were going to have some bruising, and when he straightened up, he looked remorseful.  


“I’m sorry you got knocked down. I just wanted to get him off of you.”  


“It’s okay,” you assured him, cocking your head to the side. “It’s not your fault, Negan.”  


“I should’ve kept my eye on you.”  


“Come on,” you tugged on his hand, getting him to walk. “Living our best lives, remember?”  


He groaned, but he smiled at the same time, and you both walked at a leisurely pace to your car, propping your butt against your door as he finally let go of you.  


“So, this was fun,” you teased him, making him laugh outright, and you took out your keys. “Call me tomorrow?”  


“You know it. Drive safe, dollface.”  


You both leaned in at the same time, nearly touching lips, hugging each other at the last minute, and you clumsily opened your door, smacking yourself in the hip since you’d misjudged your position. As you merged into the traffic, you saw that he was still watching you in your rearview mirror, and you raised your hand, getting a wave in return before he turned and headed back the way he came.  


Your house was dark when you arrived home, replaying the night in your mind, alternately wistful and happy. You liked Negan, more than you probably should, but you couldn’t help it. Being around him felt right. It felt good, and as you unlocked your door, you rubbed your lips together, still imagining what could’ve been if you’d kissed him instead of hugging him goodbye.  


Taking two steps in, you flipped on the entry light, screaming like a little girl as you came face to face with Mark, who was standing there looking pissed.  


“Where in the hell have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negan is getting his mojo back, and he's definitely the hero in this story. But you, reader? You're a knight in shining armor!


	6. D-Day

Not only had Mark appeared out of nowhere like a troll popping out from under a bridge on your unsuspecting self, he was also a day early. He’d said he was staying until Friday, yet here he was in the house, glaring at you as you doubled over, panting.  


You felt like you’d just crashed into the water again, going from the languid company of Negan to the man that you were planning on blindsiding with divorce papers as soon as possible. It was the same breathless feeling, only Negan wasn’t there to pull you out of the water, and you stalled for as long as possible, trying to regain your emotional footing.   


“You scared the shit out of me,” you groaned, finally meeting his eyes. “I thought you weren’t going to be back until tomorrow.”  


He was looking you up and down, noting the stains on your jeans and your Nationals shirt, and he turned away, starting towards the kitchen. You followed behind him, seeing his bag thrown on the table and a cup of coffee placed next to it, and he sat down, looking hurt. “I came home early because I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, how sad you were. But then I get here and you’re nowhere to be found.”  


Three days apart wasn’t much in the grand scheme of time, but for you, it was long enough that you felt that unbridgeable divide between you and him, and you sat down across the table from him, from a face that knew thought you knew so well, unsure if it was even a real concern or just concern about possibly being found out.  


“I had to get out of the house,” you were honest enough, under the circumstances. “I’m trying to shake this funk off, and if I stayed here, I’d just lay in bed all day feeling sorry for myself, so I went to the baseball game.”  


“Who’d you go with?’  


“I went by myself.”  


“Well, then why do you smell like cologne?” he challenged with a flash in his eyes, and it took the willpower of a thousand monks not to snap back that he had some real fucking nerve accusing you of impropriety.   


“Because I bumped into some drunk asshole and got knocked down. He fell on top of me.”  


Mark glanced down as you gestured to your dirty knees, and you continued. “Luckily, a nice gentleman was able to heft him off of me, and I was able to get up.”  


“Let me see,” Mark stood up, gesturing for you to do the same, and even though you tried to tell him that you were fine, he went to get his little medicine kit, coming back and kneeling down in front of you, not moving until you finally pulled down your jeans. You did have some brush burn, and he took out some antiseptic and cotton pads, cleaning them with a doctor’s dexterity, smirking when you swore under your breath. “It’s only surface scratches, you big baby.”  


“Yeah, well, I’m not the one that cried when I broke my pinky toe,” you reminded him, and he started to laugh.   


“Hey, that really hurt,” he said in his own defense, and you rolled your eyes, forgetting for just a second that he was a piece of shit. He was quick to bring you back down to Earth, though. “I just hate to think of your sailor’s mouth when you’re in labor.”  


“Do you know something I don’t?”  


“I'm just saying, at some point, we’re gonna start a family, and I can’t picture you keeping quiet,” he was smiling as he applied two bandages, keeping ahold of your knees when he was done.   


“ _Now_ you want to talk about family planning?”  


He faltered at the bite in your voice, retracting his hands like you’d smacked them away, and you got up, pulling your pants as you did so, at a loss for his stupidity. How could he even think of something like that when he spent most of his time wishing that he had _Bambi’s_ mouth around his dick?  


“I don’t know, babe. I just know you’re going through something, and I thought…”  


“That a baby is the answer to whatever my problem is? It’s not.”  


“Then _what_?” he threw up his hands, the medicine kit flying out and landing on the floor. “A job? I don’t want you to work. You don’t need to. I’ll be making good money once I decide on a specialty. Tell me what’s bothering you and let me help.”  


“I need…” you trailed off, biting your tongue, and Mark put his arms on your shoulders, guiding you closer so that your head was just under his. He was wearing the cologne you hated, but you let your head drop onto his sternum. “I need to figure out what I want to do with my life, Mark. I’ve spent the last several years living through you and what you want that it’s left me empty.”  


He hugged you, and you reluctantly put your arms around his waist, your heart thudding because it wasn’t the man you wanted to be holding right now. Was this how he felt every time he was with you? Wanting it to be Amber the same way that you wanted it to be Negan? How could he live like this?  


“I’m going to get through this,” you said, more to yourself than him, and he kissed your cheek, holding you for so long that you started to cry. He hummed the first song you’d ever danced together to, and you began to sob harder, letting him sway you from side to side. Goddamn him to hell for hurting you.  


_Worry_

_Why do I let myself worry?_

_Wondering_

_What in the world did I do?_  


You took a deep breath when he brought you both to a stop, not resisting when he wiped your eyes and took your hand, shutting out the lights. You both undressed in silence, and he kissed you softly on the lips, folding himself around you as you turned to your side, staring into the dark. Your thoughts were a revolving door of Negan, Mark, and Amber, and you wondered if Negan was thinking about you, too.

* * *

“Mornin’, babe.”  


Your eyes opened to see Mark sitting on your side of the bed, and he brushed the hair off of your cheek before pressing his lips to the spot. “Morning.”  


“Feeling any better?”  


It was Friday, and Mark was dressed in his scrubs. Obviously, he was planning on going into the hospital, and you nodded softly, wanting him to leave so that you could get ahold of yourself. Being with him was hurting you more than you wanted to admit, and if he was out of sight, hopefully, he’d be out of mind until you could talk to Maryann and find out when the papers would be served to him.  


“Going to the hospital?”  


“Yeah, I have a ton of paperwork to catch up on,” he said with a shrug. “I know it’s been hard on you with me being gone so long, but I promise, things will get better.”  


“I believe you,” you smiled, shutting your eyes when he kissed you again, repressing a shudder because it felt so familiar.   


“I’ll call you later.”  


With that, he was out the door, and you waited until you heard his car pull away, hot-footing it down the steps to get your phone. You still had no idea if Amber had ambushed Negan, too, and a part of you was worried that he’d either told her that he knew, or had dirty, dirty sex with her. The image was infuriating, and you opened your purse, grabbing your cell out and turning it on. There were no messages, so you texted him a simple ‘hey’ in greeting.  


It wasn’t even seven o’clock, and you almost dropped the phone when it started ringing immediately after the little bubble was delivered.   


“What in the fucking fuck happened?” You could hear his truck engine in the background, and he sounded irate, prompting you to sit down unsteadily. “I walk in the door and she’s home, saying how much she missed me and that she wanted to come back early.”  


You were seeing red, thinking about that bitch playing up to him, and the thought of him touching her was almost too much to bear. You were quiet for so long that he actually said your name instead of dollface.  


“it’s my fault,” you babbled, letting out an unsteady breath. “Stupid Mark knew I was upset yesterday and they flew home. I don’t know if they broke up, or he’s starting to figure out that I know, but-“  


“Are you thinking about calling the divorce off?”  


It sounded almost like whatever he wanted to do hinged on your answer, and your eyes landed on Mark’s bag, still on the table. Clearly, he expected you to unpack it, and that little bit of expectation brought you back down hard.   


“Absolutely not,” you heard him sigh, continuing. “As soon as the attorney’s office opens, I’m calling to see if she was able to get the papers filed.”  


“Well, I told her that I had to work, but I really took a sick day. I can’t even stand to be in the same goddamned room with her. I just had to get out of there.”  


Your poor little heart nearly stopped in its tracks at the words, and you sniffled to cover the awkward silence.  


“Any chance you could ask your lawyer to assist in my emancipation?”  


“Yeah…yeah, I can. Mark went into the hospital if you want to come over, and I’ll see if she can fit you in today, if it’s not too soon.”  


“I’m on my way, dollface.”  


Dashing up to your room, you made yourself presentable, and you had just thrown Mark’s dirty laundry into the wash when the doorbell rang. You opened it with a smile, and Negan came in, wearing his tracksuit, probably to throw off suspicion. He hugged you to him, and it seemed like he needed the contact as much as you did. You felt yourself letting out a ragged breath, the smell of his laundry detergent seeping into your nostrils, and the two of you stayed in the embrace for a few minutes.  


When you broke apart, he accompanied you into the kitchen, sitting in the same spot Mark had the night before, accepting a cup of coffee as you told him about coming home to find your spouse waiting for you. As quickly as possible, you rehashed the conversation you had, and voiced your suspicion that he may have sensed that you knew about the affair, but that you weren’t sure.   


Negan in turn told you about Amber’s excuse that she missed him, and that she wanted to spend the day together, but he’d said that he couldn’t get off of work.   


“The shit of it is, she seemed relieved,” he snorted, adding some more sugar to his coffee. “Like she was just putting in the bare minimum to keep stringing me along until your asshole husband gets you squared away.”  


“Did..um, did you…”  


Negan broke out into a smile, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he didn’t let it slide, throwing it right back at you.  


“Did you?”  


“No,” you said in a pissy tone. “I can barely stand to sleep in the same bed as him.”  


“Then why would you think I’d be any different?” he goaded you, making your whole body feel flush with jealousy.   


“I don’t know. I’m not in your marriage. For all I know, you two fuck like bunnies no matter what the situation.”  


He reacted as if you’d slapped him, and you covered your face in shame. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”  


“Well, that fucking hurt, dollface. I don’t know what kind of impression I’ve given you, but I can’t put that shit aside like Lucille did. If it makes me a hypocrite, then I’m a fucking hypocrite. It's not who I am, anymore.”  


“Negan-“  


“Maybe I should just go,” he started for the door, and you took off after him, closing your fingers around his arm.   


“I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I don’t think you’re a hypocrite.”  


He stopped moving, but he didn’t turn around, and you dropped your hand, landing on the grenade of jealousy. “I just wouldn’t think any less of you if you did, if you still wanted to salvage your marriage. I just…I don’t want to not know you once this is over. I have a really shit way of conveying it.”  


Leaning his forehead against the door, you waited, wringing your hands together until he turned around, and the ache in his eyes made your own burn. “I don’t want to not know you either.”  


Forcing a smile, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, letting him pass by you back to the kitchen, his shoulder brushing yours in a sign of forgiveness. It took you a few seconds to muster up the courage to head back, finding him sipping at the coffee. Wordlessly, you joined him, waiting until the clock above the sink said eight, and you dialed Maryann’s office.  


The secretary answered on the third ring, transferring you into Maryann, and she answered with a jaunty hello.  


“I have some good news for you,” Maryann announced. “Your papers are officially filed, and we can set up a contract with a process server to deliver them.”  


“Oh, thank God,” you breathed, slumping back in relief. “I want to get it done today, if possible. My husband came back early from his trip.”  


“It’s usually done within a week, though we can make arrangements to get it done today, but I have to tell you, it’s expensive.”  


“Oh, money is no object,” you could tell that Negan was dying to hear the other end of the conversation, and you cleared your throat. “Not to change the subject, Maryann, because I want to make the arrangements, but I’m here with the spouse of the woman that’s been sleeping with my husband, and he’d like to proceed with a divorce as well.”  


“He- oh,” she seemed at a loss, quickly regaining her composure. “So, you two know each other?”  


“We do now. How soon would you be able to see him?”  


“If he’s available today, I can meet with him.”  


“Great. What time?’  


You set an appointment for ten o’clock, hanging up after making arrangements to see her at nine-thirty yourself, and you blinked rapidly at Negan, trying to gauge his state of mind. “Too soon?”  


“Not soon enough. Wanna go grab some breakfast while we wait?”  


“Um, yes,” you hedged, and he gave you a curious look. “I, uh, told you that I hired an investigator, and, um…”  


“Fuck, yeah you did.”  


“Well, Virginia is a fault/no-fault divorce state, so in order to be able to file the way I did and get it done so quickly was because I have proof. I was never going to show you because it’s really fucking infuriating and hurtful, but…”  


“I want to see,” Negan nodded, and you went to your car, taking out the envelope.   


“Are you sure?”  


He held out his hand without answering, and you gave it to him, busying yourself with washing your coffee mugs and Mark’s cereal dish, trying to give him space as he finally saw the proof himself. You could only imagine how hard it was for him to see his wife’s infidelity in living color, but he never lost his temper or even swore. He just read through each text and perused every picture, putting it into a neat stack and stuffing it back in the envelope.  


“All right,” he clapped his hands together, getting to his feet. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”  


If and when he was going to blow, it wasn’t going to be pretty, but he was an adult, and not your partner, so you didn’t want to press him. You just grabbed the envelope and your purse, heading to your car. None of the neighbors were out, and you were oddly relieved, since none of them were witness to your current platonic meetups with another man, and you drove behind him, smiling to yourself when he pulled into a Denny’s of all places.  
`

There were no booths available, so you took one of the tables off to the right of the counter, getting a cup of coffee, even though your stomach was already nervously buzzing. You were ready for this all to be over with, and if you could get the divorce papers served tonight, it would officially be the end of ten years of your adult life. You had a degree that was gathering dust in the study, and the desire to do more with your life than sit around and keep house for someone no longer appreciated you as a wife and as a person.  


“Penny for your thoughts?”  


Negan smacked a few packets of sweetener against his palm, adding them to his drink, and you told him that you were looking forward to getting a job. Just getting back out into the world, and he pondered the alimony that could keep you afloat.   


“I didn’t ask for alimony,” you said, making his eyebrows rise. “I don’t want it. I can take care of myself.”  


“Oh, I believe it,” the smirk was making your skin tingle, “but why not make him pay for the shit he’s put you through?”  


“Because I literally never want to have to deal with him again. I just want to be free.”  


The waitress came over to take your order, and you asked for a short stack and some diced fruit. Negan ordered the same, and you sat in a subdued silence while you waited, each glancing around at the people that were there. Some were older, and most were alone, which wouldn’t have bothered you any other day, but you reflected on your own circumstances and if you’d be doing the same more often than not. You had friends, but it wasn’t the same as having a partner.   


“So,” Negan broke through your thoughts, stirring his coffee. “You said on the phone that you wanted the papers delivered tonight. Are you just going to have them come out to your house?”  


“I guess so. Why?”  


“I have an idea,” he grinned, leaning forward. With every word, you felt your lips curl, and you nodded when he was done. “You don’t think it’s too much?”  


“After everything they’ve done? No, I think it’s brilliant.”  


“I swear dollface, you’re gonna be all right.”  


Before you could tell him the same, your food was dropped down in front of you, and you ate quickly, glancing at the time. It was after nine already, and you wanted to be at Maryann’s office at nine-thirty on the dot. As soon as you finished, Negan asked for the check, dropping a twenty on the table and ushering you out.   


You were no more at your car when he turned you around, touching his lips to yours, shocking you. He’s kissing you, your heart screamed, overtaking all rational thoughts, and you leaned in, adding more force to the action.   


Everything was swirling around you. Time, space, heat. You didn’t know up from down, only that his mouth was warm and inviting, and you reached for his hips, gripping them as he cupped your jaw. It only lasted for a few seconds, and when he drew back, you gasped.   


“I had to do it,” he murmured, looking deep into your eyes as your breath sawed in and out of your lungs. “I just _had_ to do it.”  


You were rooted to your spot, unable to speak. The feel of his kiss still lingered on your lips, and you wanted more. You wanted so much more, the urge to throw yourself into him driving you to move forward, but he took a step back, shaking his head as if to clear it.   


“We gotta go.”  


With that, he left you standing next to your door, staring stupidly at him as he climbed into his truck. On autopilot, you got behind the wheel, doing your damnedest to concentrate on the road and not on that kiss. That wonderful, amazing kiss that wasn’t from Mark. It was from Negan, and you almost rear-ended him at the first stoplight you hit.   


He caught your eye in his mirror, and you put your head down out of self-preservation. While you drove, he made a call, and as you pulled into the strip mall at nine twenty-eight, you nervously ran your hands through your hair, telling yourself to get a fucking grip.   


Negan opened your door, and you handed him the envelope as he gave you the goofiest grin. “It’s all set.”  


You rummaged through your purse, typing out a quick text to Mark, and in a bit of impulsive confidence, you took Negan’s hand, heading into the office to start the proceedings.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Live Their Best Lives is about to throw DOWN!


	7. That saying about every dog...

“I always knew Mark was a spineless little worm, but I can’t believe that he would sink this low. After everything you’ve done for him.”  


Every time Lou went in on him, her brushstrokes got a little harder against your scalp, and you jerked your head out of her reach, turning back to give her a grimace.   


“Sorry,” she muttered, turning your head back around. “I’m just so fucking pissed for you. Can I please cut his nuts off with a pair of rusty shears?’  


She’d known about his affair for roughly two hours, and in that time, she’d threatened a few colorful ways to make Mark pay, but you kept reminding her that you had already taken care of it. When she’d shown up after you left the attorney’s office, you and Negan had split off to get ready for the evening, and he’d left you with a soft kiss to your forehead.   


Maryann had met with him for well over an hour, and you’d waited in your car, anxious to find out if everything was okay. He’d been subdued when he came out, but he got into your passenger’s seat, just taking your hand in his, holding it in his lap.   


“I know how you feel,” you’d said, leaning your head to the side and resting it on the headrest.   


“I’m fine. I just want to get this night over with, you know? She’s texted me five times since I walked in there.”  


“How soon is Maryann going to be able to file your papers?”  


“Beginning of the week. When she’s getting her shower, I’m going to pack a bag and have it ready.”  


You didn’t really get a chance to say anything else. He just kissed your forehead and told you he’d call you later to go over the final details. Maryann had secured a server that was able to get the papers for tonight, and he must’ve needed some time to accept the end of his marriage. You certainly didn’t blame him, but watching Negan walk away so dejectedly put an ache in your bones. Cheating or not, ending your relationships was rough, and you told yourself over and over that the short-term pain was necessary in order to move on.  


From there, you went to the mall, returning to your house after finding the perfect dress to find Lou sitting on your front porch. You brought your bags in, including the ones that you’d forgotten about the day you met Negan. They had been sitting in your trunk the entire time, and Lou started chirping at you as soon as you opened the door, complimenting the new floor and gushing over Bob’s work.   


It wasn’t until you unloaded all of your packages that she asked you why you bought so much shit. You’d been friends for a long time, and Lou knew it wasn’t like you to spend so much money on yourself for no reason, and you sat her down to tell her the truth. It took longer than you wanted because she kept interrupting to tell you how much she hated Mark, but you finally asked her to shut up and let you finish.   


“You’ve been going through this for weeks and you didn’t tell me? You know I would’ve been there for you.”  


“I know, Lou, but it’s humiliating,” your head dropped. “No one wants to tell the world that their spouse is cheating on them. I needed time, that’s all.”  


“So, what’s the deal with the new dress, then? You sure as shit didn’t buy it to try to win him back, so what gives.”  


You hadn’t planned on telling her about Negan, but you did, anyway, covering your face when you explained how you’d sought him out, not knowing that you’d find an ally and a friend. If you were overly effusive in your description of him, she didn’t call any attention to it, but after you’d run out of words to say, she insisted on staying to help you ‘knock Mark’s socks off for the last fucking time’.  


While you showered and dried your hair, she set up an impromptu beauty bar with your makeup, parking you in front of the mirror. Beauty was Lou’s business since she owned one of the best spas in the city, and you were putty in her hands, letting her do whatever she wanted because she knew a lot more than you did about what was in style. You had a look and you stuck to it, but Lou was the expert, and she snipped and cleaned up some of the rough ends on your hair and changed up your eye makeup. Maybe you’d become too comfortable in your relationship and your style.  


“If you won’t let me chop his balls off, can I at least stick this hot curling iron up his ass?”  


Laughing, you shook your head no, and she offered to yank out his pubes with your tweezers. Before too long, you were nearly hysterical, and she pinched your arm to keep you from crying and ruining her masterpiece. Lou was about ten feet of dynamo in a five-foot body, and you realized how much support you’d missed out on by keeping your troubles to yourself.   


While she put on the finishing touches, you prodded her to tell you more about Bob, and her cheeks got pink, insisting that they were just friends. You’d known her long enough to see that she was nuts over him, and you reached up, stilling her hand.  


“Go for it, honey. Take it from someone who wishes they had been strong enough to just take a leap, and tell him how you really feel.”  


“We’re good friends, and I don’t want to lose that if it doesn’t work out.”  


“Lou, no one in their right mind would not want to be in your life in whatever way they possibly could, but if it does work out? You’ll kick yourself for not doing it sooner.”  


Taking a deep breath, she promised you that she’d tell him how she felt, and when she stepped to the side, your mouth dropped at your own reflection.   


“Cindy Crawford,” you both said at the same time, and she grinned at you in the mirror.   


“Big hair with a modern twist. It works on you, sweetie, and you’re going to make him wish he’d never fucked up the way he has.”  


“I…I’m doing this for me,” you whispered, fighting the urge to flip your head dramatically and pose like a loser. “I want to feel good about me.”  


“You’ve always been a supermodel,” Lou told you over her shoulder as she went to rummage through your bras and panties, finding a pair that matched and tossed them on the bed for you. “And you’d better strut your fine ass when you’re walking away from that dickhead.”  


“Thank you, Lou,” you hugged her, taking a calming breath. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”  


“You’d better,” she wiped her eyes, smacking your ass. “I’m off to see about a boy.”  


“Go get ‘em,” you called after her, taking off your robe when you heard the front door shut. Mark was due back any minute, and he’d called you twice to find out where you were going tonight, but all you would tell him was that it was a surprise. The last thing you needed was for him to tell Amber his whereabouts for the evening and for them to find out they were both going to be at the same place at the same time.  


* * *

“Babe, I’m home- whoa,” Mark stopped in his tracks when he walked into the kitchen, his eyes bugging out as he took in your appearance. “You look stunning.”  


“Thank you,” you smiled, pleased that your outfit had the desired effect. “Lou came over and gave me a makeover.”  


“Well, you always look beautiful, but, wow. Did I forget our anniversary?”  


“No, you ass. Hurry up and go get changed. I laid out some clothes for you. We have to be out the door in thirty minutes.”  


“Where are we going?”  


“It’s a surprise,” you stepped closer, giving his chest a little push, and he caught you off guard when he wrapped his arm around your waist, kissing you. You reciprocated so as not to make him suspicious, but all you could think about was Negan, and how Mark’s shows of affection no longer had the effect on you that they once had. He used to be able to make you weak in the knees, but now there was just a vague repulsion because you were never sure if he’d just done the same thing with Amber. Negan’s innocent kiss had done more for you in a few seconds than anything that Mark could ever hope to ever again.  


“I love you, babe.”  


“Go get ready. It’s a big night.”  


Mark whistled to himself as he went upstairs, and you wiped your mouth with a paper towel, reapplying your lipstick and sending Negan a quick update that you’d be leaving in a half-hour. He got right back to you, saying that he’d see you soon, and you stowed your phone in your purse. Like Negan, you had a bag packed and stowed in your trunk and a reservation at the Alexandria Old Town for the night. Now, you just had to finish what you’d started on Monday.  


When he came down, you tossed him your keys, and you gave him vague directions as he needled you for more information, but you were resolute, not giving him the actual address until you were positive that he wouldn’t have a chance to text his side bitch. You pulled into Coeur de Joie at just before eight, when Negan had set your reservations, and Mark parked at the rear of the lot.   


“How in the hell did you get reservations here? It’s impossible.”  


“I know people,” you told him, turning your face when he tried to kiss your lips, and he settled for your cheek instead. Mark considered himself a serious foodie, and you’d known that he’d tried to get into this place before because its reputation was impeccable. Classic and contemporary French cuisine in an intimate setting, Coeur de Joie was never available, because most of the Washington elite made it their home base. You had no idea how Negan was able to get last-minute spots here, but you were impressed.   


With an old stone façade and moss growing up the sides, the restaurant was moderately built, and you started for the entrance, with Mark taking your elbow to guide you over the classic cobblestones that had been installed for the lot. Vintage candle streetlights lined the walkway, and you stepped inside, mouthing a ‘wow’ under your breath.  


Cream-colored walls, gold brocade, and dark mahogany made it look elegant and classic, and you straightened your posture automatically, feeling like you’d just stepped into old-school Paris. Your dad had taken you for your sixteenth birthday, and you looked back on the experience with the melancholic joy that only memories of lost loved ones could give you. Would you ever look back on your time with Mark and feel the same?  


“Bon Soir,” the hostess greeted you, and you tore your gaze away from the ornate bar that housed every sort of spirit imaginable. “How may I help you?”  


Her nametag read Claudette, and she had a slight French accent, which was pleasant. She was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a crisp white blouse, a diamond clip holding her hair in a simple bun. You gave your name, and she ran her index finger down the reservation list, her face maintaining perfect impartiality.   


“Ahh, yes, Mrs. Smith. Right this way, if you’ll follow me,” she carried two menus with her, guiding you through the open floorplan to an unexpected alcove down a hallway to the right of the bar. It fit only three tables, and it was lit with the same old-fashioned candles and fresh ivy that appeared to be growing like magic. Under any other circumstances, it would undoubtedly be on of the most romantic spots in Alexandria, and you allowed Mark to hold out your chair as you sat, unwinding your shawl and hanging your purse on the hook that was mounted under the table.  


“Your waiter will be right with you,” Claudette set the menus in front of you. “Enjoy your evening.”  


She bustled off to greet other patrons that were waiting, and you took a sip of your water, your stomach starting to churn in nervous excitement. Mark took no notice, opening the menu to go over the meals with a fine-toothed comb. If he hadn’t ruined all affection that you felt for him, you’d almost feel bad for what was going to happen, but he hadn’t cared about you or your happiness, so why should you lament his?  


The waiter came over a few minutes later, setting a basket of warm, crusty bread in the middle of the table along with soft brie and honey butter, introducing himself. When he asked if you wanted anything from the bar, you asked for their best Bordeaux, and Mark ordered a Chardonnay.  


“Let me just get that, and I’ll be back to tell you about our specials.”  


While you waited, Mark paid more attention to the menu than you, and you finally let out a muted cough out of boredom. “Sorry, babe, but this place is just…I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’ll gladly do it again.”  


You bit your lip to keep from either laughing or screaming, you weren’t sure which, when all of a sudden, you smiled so widely that your cheeks felt like they were cramping.   


“Sorry we’re late.”  


Mark turned to see who was talking, almost falling out of his chair. Behind him was Negan, dressed like the most stunning human alive, and Amber was stopped halfway into the alcove, blocking your waiter from getting in to deliver your wine. You’d never seen a more welcome and wonderful sight in your life, and Negan was looking at you as if he felt the exact same way.   


“Hi.”  


It was all you could get out, and his eyes never left yours, but you could see Mark’s head swiveling around like one of those bobbleheads that truckers put on their dash, not sure where to look. Amber was still standing there, going slowly pale, and Negan took it upon himself to push the middle table so that it butted up against yours. He held out the chair next to Mark, and Amber jumped when the waiter cleared his throat to announce his presence, forcing her to unwillingly take the spot next to her lover.  


Negan sat down next to you, and you felt your entire right side get warm, being in such close proximity to him that you had to take a cleansing breath to calm yourself.   


“Who…I…how…”  


Mark was looking from person to person, and you got your first up-close at the woman who was sleeping with your soon to be ex-husband. She was very pretty, with white-blonde hair, golden skin, and light blue eyes. Much thinner than you expected, she was wearing a turquoise dress, one of those ones that had a deep-V that went almost to her stomach, and she appraised you as well, her upper lip curling up.  


“Remember that friend from school I told you about?” you addressed Mark, who was roughly the same color as the pristine white tablecloth, and Negan reached over to your table, grabbing one of the ends of the bread and slathering some of the butter on it, taking a bite. “Well, this is him. Negan, meet Mark. Mark, this is Negan.”  


All he could do was nod faintly, though neither man bothered to try to shake hands.   


“You went to school together?”  


“No, we just met at school,” Negan told him in a much more jovial voice than you expected. “This is Amber, my wife.”  


The two glanced at each other before looking away quickly, and you threw in some more discomfort, because, hey, they deserved it.   


“Negan told me that you work at BridgePoint, too,” you said, staring at Mark instead of her. “Do you two know each other?”  


“I, uh, don’t think so,” Mark answered for her, and you almost jumped when you felt Negan’s knee brush against yours. “What do you do there?”  


“I’m a nurse,” Amber replied, and hearing her voice in person was like being stabbed in the eardrums. It was so high and haughty that you couldn’t help the grimace that passed over your face. You tried not to be so superficially ignorant, but how Negan and Mark could listen to that and not want to pull a Van Gogh just stymied you. She was very pretty, but the terrible voice just ruined it for you, not to mention that she was an asshole.   


The waiter hovered unobtrusively in the background, and Negan broke through the concrete tension to order a glass of bourbon, and Amber ordered a beer, playing with the neckline of her dress. As soon as he was gone, she turned her stare to you, and it felt like she was trying to intimidate you, but you weren’t so easily cowed. The bitch had a lot of nerve, you gave her that, and the room was tomb-like until a tall, thin man with a mustache brought over the drinks, shaking Negan’s hand after he set them down, never acknowledging Amber at all.  


“Simon, old buddy,” Negan slapped his back in greeting. “Thanks for getting us in on such short notice.”  


“Anything for you old friend.”  


Negan introduced you, and then Mark, calling him Mike, and Mark seemed too thrown to correct him. Simon came around the side, kissing the top of your hand.   


“Enchante, madame.”  


“Merci, monsieur.”  


“Ah, vous parlez Francais?”  


“En peu,” you were very charmed as he continued to converse in French, and after welcoming you to his restaurant, he winked at Negan, excusing himself, calling out to one of the waiters to bring your table an order of escargot on the house.   


“So, you got us these reservations?” Mark’s voice faltered as Negan took another slice of bread, and you followed suit, adding a touch of brie and taking a nibble.   


“Simon’s an old friend of mine, and I’d do anything for Mrs. Smith, here. She wanted to have a special night, and who was I to not do my very fucking best to make that happen?”  


Negan glanced at his watch, grunting when you dug your heel into the top of his foot for calling you Mrs. Smith, and he started to laugh as he showed you the time. It was exactly eight-fifteen, and you felt your heart start to race in abject fear and anticipation.  


“Negan, what’s going on? I thought we were going to have a date night tonight?” Amber whined, and Mark’s head turned sharply, looking offended.   


He never replied, instead elbowing you softly in the side as a man in a brown bomber jacket and jeans came into the alcove, looking for direction. Negan inclined his head towards Mark, and he and Amber turned around to see what the two of you were looking at.   


“Are you Dr. Smith?” the man asked, and Mark nodded, confused as to what was going down. The gentleman reached into his jacket, extracting an envelope and handing it to Mark, who had no clue what was happening. “You’ve been served, sir.”  


With that, the process server turned and walked away, and you looked into the eyes of a person that knew the jig was up, and it was more delicious than anything that Simon could cook up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter tomorrow!


	8. Virginia Is For Lovers

“How long have you known?”  


The envelope was still unopened, clasped in his shaking hand, and Mark finally looked you in the eye, sadness pouring out of every pore, but you felt nothing. Not regret or anger at that moment, just nothing.  


“Long enough.”  


“I’m sorry, but what’s going on?” Amber inserted herself into the narrative, giving you a hard look, but Negan answered for you, and you broke from Mark’s stare to reach down into your purse, extracting some folded-up papers of your own.  


“He just got his divorce filing,” Negan told her, and she blinked twice, her mouth dropping. “You’ll get yours next week, don't worry.”  


“I…”  


“I can explain,” Mark tried to fill in the awkward silence, but you unfolded your papers, smoothing them out on the side of your little appetizer plate.  


“Oh, no need,” you tapped on the printed texts, and his eyes saucered out. “This tells me everything I need to know.”  


Negan leaned over so that you could both see, and began reading them aloud, with Negan playing the role of Mark, and you of Amber.  


“ _I can’t stop thinking about you, Bambi. I miss you every minute we’re not together.”_  


_**“Mark, you have no idea what you do to me. I’ve never felt like this with any other man.”** _   


_“_ _I’m going to say there’s an emergency at the hospital. Can you get away tonight?”_  


_**“Lol, an emergency? How does a nice car pile-up sound? Too morbid?”** _   


_“Wear the red thong. It’s my favorite.”_

“You’ve been spying on us?” Amber had the incredible ass to sound affronted, and Negan snatched the next paper, holding it up like you were at show and tell at school. It was a picture of the two of them in one of the hospital courtyards kissing, and she gave Negan a look of pure hatred. “That is such an invasion of our privacy!”  


“You’re not the wronged party here, dumbass,” you hissed, and she slung her arm over the back of Mark’s seat, turning smug in an instant.  


“We can’t help that we fell in love, you jealous cow.”  


“Amber,” Mark looked ill, and you smirked at her attempts to rile you up, even though the words stung.   


“Honey, you aren’t half the woman she is, and you never will be,” Negan came to your defense. “You’re fucking rotten to the core, and there ain’t enough tanning spray and fancy clothes to change it.”  


“You were always beneath my station, Negan,” she shot back, and you wanted to smack the smile off of her face. “I told you that you weren’t marriage material, and I was right. Mark is better than you in every way, and he’ll take care of me like you never could. You can’t even get a decent job. You’re still exactly where you were twenty years ago, in that run-down school.”  


As they tore each other to shreds, Mark had gone into some sort of stupor, and the ugliness was just palpable, like the moisture in the air right before a storm. You were positive he’d never seen this side of her, but it wasn’t your fucking problem. He wanted her, and now he had her, and there was no way she was ever going to let go. A blind man could see that she’d set her sights on a doctor at the hospital, and by God, she’d gotten one.  


Incrementally, you moved your hand under the table, giving Negan's leg a reassuring squeeze, and it was enough to draw his attention from Amber’s vicious attack on his character. He sat back, seeming to wash his hands of her, and you waved the other arm to get Mark’s attention.  


“When you open the envelope, you’ll also see that you’ve been accused of adultery, and since I have proof, this divorce can be expedited and we can go our separate ways.”  


“Why would you bring me here to humiliate me? Why couldn’t you have just talked to me?”   


“Are you fucking kidding me?” you couldn’t quite believe what you just heard, and his nostrils flared out. “You’ve been cheating on me for months, and you have the nerve to act like the wounded party? I don’t fucking think so, Mark. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to pack up your personal shit and move out.”  


“You can’t do that,” Amber screeched, the sound bouncing off the walls that surrounded you, and Negan looked like he wanted to jump over the table and throttle her. “It’s his house, too. Why don’t _you_ just fucking move out?”  


Mark’s face was turning bright red, and you laughed bitterly, seeing him for the weasel he was, and you wondered if he’d ever looked at you as anything more than a patsy.  


“The house is in my name,” you said through gritted teeth, never sparing her a glance. “This fool hasn’t worked a day in his life until he got his residency. He had no credit history, and his name is nowhere on the deed. So, if I see you on my property, putting your greedy little fingers on any of my belongings, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Are we clear, _Bambi_?”  


A series of squeaks and hisses were her only reply, and you took off your engagement ring, flicking it onto the top of the divorce papers, getting to your feet. Once you got your purse from the hook, you dug into your wallet, tossing a few hundred dollar bills onto the table.   


“Dinner’s on me,” you told him, the clatter of Negan’s ring punctuating the end of your little meet-up, and Mark’s refusal to look at you chapped your ass. “Eat well. It’s the last penny you’ll ever get out of me.”  


“Have a _great_ night,” Negan’s anger was barely restrained, and he made a fist as he came around to collect you, causing Mark to flinch. “Oh, and Mark?” he turned back, leaning in so that they were just inches from each other. “If I ever run into you again, I’m beating your ass into oblivion.”  


He took your ringless hand, damned near storming through the restaurant, waving Simon off as he started to follow, and when you got outside, he let you go, punching the brick wall and swearing as he shook his fist.  


“Fuck the fucking fuck outta both of those pricks.”  


An elderly couple that was walking in muttered under their breath, and you started for your car, the adrenaline starting to make you shake. Negan didn’t catch up to you until you were opening your trunk, and he reached around you to pick up your bag, carrying it over to his truck and tossing it into the backseat.   


He opened the door for you, and you struggled to climb up, letting out a squeak when he put his hands on your waist, hoisting you up. You’d just gotten your legs inside when he’d slammed the door, stalking around the back and getting in beside you. The cab smelled like musk and mahogany, and you buckled your seatbelt as he started up the engine.   


Negan hadn’t looked at you, yet, and you were too intimidated to say anything. Amber had gone for the jugular, reiterating everything that she knew would hurt him, and you wanted so badly to tell him that no one had ever been more wrong about anything in their lives, but the words wouldn’t come out. He asked you where you were going to be saying, and you spit out the name of the hotel, running your thumb over the spot where your ring used to sit nervously.   


You weren’t an idiot. You knew this night was going to be shitty and painful, but you also weren’t prepared for Mark to be such a little bitch and for Amber to be so absolutely irredeemable. You figured at the very least, they’d apologize for hurting the two of you, and maybe make up some bullshit about how they were meant to be together or something. You didn’t anticipate that they’d be so toxic when they were together, and you had absolutely no idea what they saw in each other, other than money and arm candy.  


_I wish I was lying next to you._  


Mark’s text to Amber was running through your head on an endless loop, and the ride was abysmally quiet. Negan seemed lost in his own thoughts, and you struggled in the seat next to him, telling yourself that you were destined for happiness, and so was Negan. You just needed to get some distance from tonight, and when you pulled up to the curb of the hotel, he put the car in park, reaching back for your bag.   


He was facing you, so close, and you caressed his cheek, kissing him because it was all you wanted to do. You didn’t want to get out of his truck, and you dreaded watching him drive away. He dropped your bag, unbuckling your seat belt with his eyes closed, and you whimpered into his lips, brushing your tongue to his. It sent a lightning bolt of fire to your spine, which spread to your entire body, and if being dipped into hellfire at the restaurant led to this, it was worth it to you.  


“Dollface,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, digging his fingers into the small of your back, and you opened your eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”  


“For what?”  


He inched back, raking his eyes over your face, your chest, your lips. You were on the edge of insanity, not really understanding how this man that you’d known for less than a week could bring out so many unbridled desires in you, and you could only hope that he wasn’t going to say that he didn’t want you.  


“That you had to sit there and listen to Amber. That you even had to fucking meet her at all. Tonight was a mistake.”  


No. _Hell_ no.   


You reached behind you, removing his hands from your back, and he reeled back in surprise. While he was still grappling from the loss of contact, you took the keys from the ignition, scrambling out of the truck and opening the back door, bending over awkwardly to reach for both bags.  


“What the fuck are you doing?”  


“Let’s go.”  


You shut the door, stuttering to a stop when you realized that a porter had been standing there the entire time, and he’d seen you making out. For just a split second, you felt guilty, like you’d been doing something wrong, but the sensitive skin of your finger that was now exposed brought your back down to reality, and you remembered that you were almost single again.  


“Good evening, ma’am,” he was polite, and you handed him the keys. “Are you checking in?”  


“Yes.”  


You found a ten-dollar bill in the corner of your purse, juggling both bags until he took them from you, all while Negan was still sitting in the truck like a statue. The kid gave you a valet ticket and the bags back, opening the driver’s door, and Negan finally got out, joining you on the sidewalk. Without missing a beat, you strolled into the lobby, your self-esteem bouncing back with every step.   


The clerk was handing you a key card by the time he caught up to you, and when he attempted to get his bag from you, you narrowed your eyes at him, daring him to make a scene in front of the girl.   


“You’re in the Carlyle Suite, ma’am, and Preston will accompany you up. Please let me know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”  


“Thank you.”  


Once Preston had your things firmly in hand, you took Negan’s hand, forcing him to come along, even though he resisted slightly. The bellhop gave you a rundown of the history of the hotel and surrounding area, and you could feel the tension as you rode in the elevator, linking your fingers with his and tamping down on the shiver that was trying so desperately to take over your entire body.   


The Carlyle Suite was exquisite, the kind of place that made you feel like lifting your pinkie finger as you drank tea from vintage, Louis XIV teacups, and you tipped the bellboy, shutting the door after listening to him list the amenities that were available. You didn’t care about any of that, you just wanted to be alone with Negan.   


As you turned to face him, expecting some blowback from basically forcing him up here with you, you jumped when you saw that he was standing almost on top of you, and you backed into the door, splaying your palms out against the wood, eyes wide.  


“Why did you bring me up here?” his voice was sharp and his mouth was set, closing the small gap between you. He was angry and maybe a little suspicious, despite the fact that you’d attempted affection in the truck. “For revenge? A rebound? Pity for the poor little schoolteacher?”  


“No,” your eyebrows wrinkled up in hurt. “You know that’s not true. Don’t lash out at me, Negan.”  


You reached out to place your hand to his chest, and he caught your wrist, yanking you closer, your chest bouncing against his as he dragged you into the center of the room. Neither of you had so much as looked around, and your only focus was on the man that was trying in vain to push you into total honesty.  


“I _want_ to spend the night with you,” it was hard to say the words, to put yourself out there because now you weren’t sure if he thought kissing you earlier in the day was a mistake. “I like you,” you worked to free your arm, and he let you go, though neither of you moved any further apart. “I’ve felt more like myself in the last few days spending time with you than I have in years. I’ve laughed more than I can remember, and for the first time in ten fucking years, I’ve thought about someone else other than Mark.”  


“Don’t-“ he closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath when you brought both hands to his face, cupping his cheeks.   


“I want to spend the night with you because I _want_ to. I’m not looking for a rebound, and I’m not asking you to jump into a relationship with me, because how could I? I just want…”  


When he opened those stunningly soulful eyes to see you breathing heavily, he covered your fingers with his own, trapping you in his blatant want and need. “Say it.”  


“I want…”  


“Say it.”  


“I want to feel the way I did when you first kissed me because I’ve never felt anything like it before. You’re amazing.”  


Negan let you go, lifting you off of your feet and kissing you as he walked towards the bed, setting you in front of it. Like a man possessed, he pushed his tongue through your parted lips, circling yours and making you moan in a way that you’d never done before. Every cell in your body was electrified, not even aware when he unzipped your dress. Your arms went around his neck as he pushed deeper into your mouth, sealing his lips over yours.  


When he let out a throaty purr, you lost what little awareness you had, blindly trying to push his jacket off of his shoulders. His mouth never left yours as he shook himself out of it, pushing down the straps of your dress. You let your head tip back, giving him unrestricted access to your neck, and the brush from his stubble burned in the best way, giving tangible proof of his trail across your skin.   


Your fingers wound through his hair, and he licked at the swell of your breasts, guiding the straps past your elbows, and you freed your arms, your knees nearly buckling when he pushed the dress down past your hips, a soft thud when it hit the carpet.  


Amber’s thin body was so different than yours, and you hoped that he wasn’t disappointed, but he ducked his head from your grasp, taking in your breasts, your hips, your thighs.   


“I know I’m a little bigger than her. I’ve been meaning to join a gym,” you started to try to make excuses, but he pushed you suddenly, making you topple onto the mattress in a heap.   


Glaring at you, he pulled your heels off, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it behind him, getting on his knees on the bed, straddling your legs.   


“Your body is a work of art, Dollface.”  


Using one finger, he traced it over your collarbone, along the outside of your bra, across your stomach, stopping at your panties. “Would you take a hammer and chisel to the fucking Venus de Milo after it’s been perfected? _No_ ,” he let out a low growl, falling onto his elbows over you. “No you fucking wouldn’t, so don’t change a goddamned thing about your body unless you want to, because I’m fucking drooling over here.”  


Ashamed of your trembling limbs, you gingerly ran your nails through his chest hair, marveling at his sculpted beauty. Every muscle was taut, and his skin was creamy and supple, an odd thing to say about a man, but it was true. Craning your neck, you made contact, sucking on his adam’s apple, the shudder that it caused giving you a high that no drugs could ever match.   


_You_ made that happen. It was _your_ name that he said so reverently, sending you into a frenzy, and you dug your nails into his pecs, using your teeth to bite softly into his throat. He still had your legs trapped between his, and you wanted to be able to wrap them around his waist and feel his torso on yours.  


“Let- my legs,” you said into his neck, whining when he eased back, lifting one knee. You spread yours as he pulled you to a sitting position, unhooking your bra with one hand.   


“Oh, those are real,” he muttered, raising one eyebrow, and you laughed, segueing into a moan when he took your right breast into his mouth, using his teeth to pinch your nipple. It caused you to become even wetter than you already were, squirming in pleasure.   


“Negan,” it came out as a beg, the pain inside almost unbearable. “Please…”  


He switched to the left, palming the one he’d just abandoned, his thumb rubbing back and forth. You weren’t sure how much more you could take, and you fumbled with the button on his pants, cupping his erection. It made him suck harder, and you saw stars, whimpering in need.   


“Please,” you repeated, moving your fingers back and forth, and he bucked into your hold, jerking back when it became too much. “Please take your pants off.”  


Nodding with a wicked smile, he rolled off the bed to a standing position, and you lifted your hips to slide your panties down, freezing when he clicked his tongue. You let your ass drop back down, watching as his pants and boxers came off, his dick popping free. Every inch was mouthwatering, and the head was an angry pink, accented with light blue veins. He had a black treasure trail, and you had the intense urge to run your nose through it, sure that it smelled as musky as his truck, but he crawled back on top of you, placing soft kisses between your breasts and down along your stomach. The closer he got to your sex, the more heat it caused, and he used his index fingers to hook the sides of the lace panties, lowering them.  


The heat of his breath and the chill of the air left you exposed until he buried his face between your legs, and you were rendered catatonic. Nothing else mattered but the strokes that he gave you, dipping his tongue inside and circling your clit. There was no way you were going to last long, and you cried out, rocking up to brush your entire pelvis against his stubble.  


Your orgasm was intense, causing your arms and legs to spasm and your head to knock back into the pillow, riding it out in bliss. In fact, it took you a few seconds to notice that he’d stopped, and you attempted to focus your attention on his grinning face.   


“Oh, fuck me,” you ended up taking ahold of his ears to try to get him up, but he let out a long breath.   


“I don’t have a fucking condom. I didn’t think that this was how my night was going to end up.”  


“I’m on the pill,” the words had barely left your mouth before he lined himself up, bending your legs up to your armpits.   


“Fuck,” Negan pushed the head of his cock inside you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “You have no idea how many times I thought about doing this over the last couple of days.”  


A delighted smile crossed your face for a split second, changing to a moan when he was fully inside you. Releasing your legs, he put his elbows on either side of your neck, plunging his tongue into your mouth, and you knew that you’d never be the same again. You'd been altered completely, no trace of the woman that you once were even a few hours ago.  


Alternating quick thrusts with slow undulations, it was more than apparent that he knew how to please a woman, and you worked your hips to meet his movements, breaking from his kiss to nibble on his ear. The sound of his skin slapping yours and your combined grunts and moans filled the air, as did the sweet scent of sex.   


If you could spend the rest of your life underneath this man, the recipient of his physical affection and touch, you’d gladly trade anything you had. Each time he said your name or breathed into your lips, you felt another surge of pleasure, and when he sped up his pace, your hands drifted down to his ass, encouraging him to use you, to push the very limits of what you could take.  


He came with a sputtering groan, panting and writhing between your thighs, and you exhaled, watching the serene expression that crossed his face. Negan buried his face in your neck, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, suddenly terrified that he’d pull out of you. It was too soon, and it felt too good, but all he did was add a little more weight to your body, and you nearly started to weep when he murmured into your throat.  


“I could get used to this.”


	9. To Tell The Truth

Negan offered you the last bite of salmon, but you declined, pushing his arm away when he kept trying to shove it into your mouth. “You sure? Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”  


“Yes,” you laughed at the look on his face, watching as he slowly brought it to his lips, making a huge show of polishing it off, and as he chewed, he dropped the fork onto the plate, patting his stomach happily. “Finish what you were saying.”  


You didn’t really want to hear any more about his relationship with Amber, but you did want to be supportive, and what you were seeing was a man that had been living under a cloud. He wasn’t over his first wife when Amber came into his life, and she’d charmed him and made him feel like he was wanted.   


“I liked her, and she took care of me,” he sighed, sliding the room service tray down the bed, turning on his side to face you. You were still nude under the covers, and one leg was outside the sheets, drawing his attention. He traced the curve of your hip and thigh, looking at you. “She moved in right away and started hinting that she wanted to get married. You have to understand that I was in a fog, still mourning Lucille and just wanting something that wasn’t there. Hell, maybe I unconsciously chose someone the exact opposite because my heart knew that I’d never have a real connection with anyone again. Next thing you know, we’re getting’ hitched and I’m thinking that I’d made a huge ass mistake.”  


A part of you wanted to ask him why he didn’t just get the marriage annulled, but he’d already confessed in a drunken state that he didn’t want to have two failed marriages, and you scooted closer to him when he pulled at your body. Once you were laying on top of his pillow, he nuzzled his nose to yours, making your eyelids flutter.  


“I…it just felt like autopilot. Go to work, come home and have dinner together, have sex a couple of times a week. A boring ass life, but that’s how some people do it, right?”  


Looking back, you could see the pattern in your own marriage, and you nodded silently. Most of the last few years had been the same for you, but you’d told yourself that it was just temporary, and once Mark got done with school, it would be better. He’d even mentioned it to you, and like the good little wife you were, you’d waited it out. Only, Mark didn’t.  


“She kept bugging me to go to nursing school not long after the ceremony, saying that since we were married, she could get financial aid and in the end, it would double our finances. I wasn’t against it,” he said, moving his hand under the sheet to cup your ass, distracting you. “I don’t live beyond my means, but who wouldn’t like more money? So, I agreed.”  


You squirmed in his hold, shifting your gaze to his chest, running your fingers over the claw marks you’d made on his pecs, feeling guilty.   


“Once she started school, she got more ambitious. It was all about getting a job at the hospital, and at first, I thought it was just ‘cause of the pay and the benefits. I mean, I get it. I have a pension and great insurance, but why not have your own? But she was just…different. Not enough to arouse suspicion,” Negan smiled tonelessly, “because you’d think I’d be able to spot an affair, having had one of my own.”  


Looking back, you could see the changes in Mark as well. Subtle, but they were there. You’d already told Negan about him changing up his wardrobe and trying to get into better shape. But the constant texts and phone calls that you thought were about work were from Amber. The longer hours that you’d assumed came with being a resident weren’t always job-related, and you still felt stupid for not picking up on it.  


A firm squeeze of your right ass-cheek startled you out of your thoughts, and you saw that Negan was studying the expression on your face. “My belabored fucking point, here, is that once you stalked your way into my life and turned it the fuck upside down, it really shook me up, Dollface. Lucille would be spitting mad that I morphed into a man that she wouldn’t recognize. Hell, I don't even recognize me, anymore.”  


The reminder of your piss-poor job of seeking him out in a stealthy fashion was embarrassing, and you could tell that your body was turning red. All it did was make him increase the pace with which he was manipulating your skin, and you ducked your head under his chin, too mortified to actually face him.  


“Why in the holy hell would anyone settle for average?” he wondered into the top of your scalp, warming the skin with his breath. “What the fuck was I thinking?”  


Moving his hand from its currently preferred spot, he dragged it up your back, along the outside of your shoulder to your chin, forcing your head back to meet his eyes. He licked his lips, touching them to yours, and you let out a soft whimper, still in a state of awe that he could cause a reaction that intense.   


“Like you said, I’m not expecting a relationship either, but fuck, Dollface, I really want to get to know you, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to take you on a real fucking date that doesn’t end with your tits being propositioned by anyone but me. There’s not a goddamned thing that’s average or plain about you.”  


“I’d like that,” you murmured, wanting to spend as much time with him as you could, because you enjoyed it. The sex, the swearing, the conversation. All of it was enticing. The whole damned package, and that package went to kiss you again, when you had a sudden thought, leaning back. “What about Fletch?” you asked as his lips missed you, and he gave you a confused look.  


“What about him?”  


“Is he there with her now? She wouldn’t try to do anything to him, would she?”   


“I had Simon’s wife pick him up before we left,” he said, letting you go, and you couldn’t tell if he was offended that you thought that Amber would actually be so cruel. “His daughter loves playing with the dog, and I told Amber that she wanted to have him for a sleepover.”  


“Oh.”  


“I’m staying with Simon for a few days while I find a new place to live,” Negan sat up, picking up the tray and taking it over to the little cart before walking into the bathroom. “Hey, what’s your degree in, by the way?”  


“Business, why?”  


The sound of water turning on drowned out his voice, and you sat up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and you groaned under your breath. Your hair looked like it had been caught in a windstorm, and your make up was smeared across your face. Nothing doll-like about you at the moment, and you got out of the bed, unzipping your bag and hurriedly brushing out the knots and hairspray, tucking it into a clip, piling it on top of your head. There was a robe hanging on the knob of the door, and you covered your body before joining Negan in the bathroom, surprised to see that it was the tub that was running and not the sink.   


He was pouring some bubble bath into the rather large tub, and you got a washcloth, cleaning up most of the remnants of your made-up face, leaning your butt against the counter as you watched him running his hands under the tap.   


“Why did you want to know about my degree?”  


“Huh?” he looked startled for a second, and he left the water to come over and use his thumb to clean off a bit of wayward mascara under your eye. “Oh, ‘cause the middle school is looking for a secretary, and even if it’s not the highest paying job, I thought maybe you could apply for it so that you have some money coming in. You said you wanted to get a job, and since you’re not asking for alimony, it’s still a paycheck.”  


Before you could say anything, he undid the belt of the robe, removing the material from your body and leading you over to the tub. You stepped in, sighing as you sank down into the hot water, moving your hands back and forth to make more bubbles. Negan stripped out of his boxers, climbing in and parking himself at the opposite end. The tub was more than big enough to fit both of you comfortably, and you slid down up to your neck as he threw his arms over the sides, waiting for you to answer him, nudging your hip with his foot.  


“I…thank you for thinking of me, but, you really don’t have to worry about my finances,” you avoided his eyes, concentrating on your soapy knees instead.   


“And why is that?”  


“Well, uh, I have some money to my name.”  


Negan’s face stayed neutral, and you took a deep breath, deciding to just be honest. If you were going to really get to know each other, he was going to find out anyway. It wasn’t something that you just out and out told people, but your close circle knew who you were and how you ended up the way that you did, financially.  


“So, my maiden name is Andrews,” you asked, and he shrugged agreeably, waiting for you to elaborate. “Have you ever heard of Tyson Andrews?”  


“The steel guy?”  


“He was my grandfather. His son, Terrence, was my father.”  


“Weren’t they like the Rockefellers and shit?”  


Biting your lip, you slid down further into the water, your mouth getting dry. “My dad had me very late in life, in his fifties. He was gay, and my grandfather threatened to disown him if he ever came out.”  


Negan’s mouth opened but he didn’t say anything, and you continued to speak, your heart aching because you missed your dad so much that it was making you want to cry. “My grandfather loved him, don’t get me wrong, but our family was part of the upper-echelon of high society and business, and Tyson was positive that if it came out that his only son was gay, it would destroy both the Andrews family reputation and the company. And my father followed his wishes.”  


“That…is so fucked up. What about your mom?”  


“I don’t have a mom, really,” you could see him trying to figure it out in his head, so you plowed ahead with your crazy history. “My dad spent most of his early life just working for my grandfather, building Andrews Steel into one of the most powerful and profitable companies in the world, but as he got older, he wanted a child. Being gay and in the closet, thanks to Tyson, his choices were to adopt or to marry, so he chose to marry the woman that’s my mom, but it was more like an arrangement. They cared for each other, but Sarah was more like a surrogate. They had a ‘whirlwind’ courtship, and they did artificial insemination, resulting in me less than a year later.”  


You’d loved your grandfather, but you hated that he’d placed so many conditions on your dad, and you knew it was one of the reasons that you’d sought out some familial stability for yourself. “After their divorce, they went their separate ways, and I stayed with my dad, even though I still see Sarah once in a while. He was so amazing,” you smiled to yourself, nearly forgetting that Negan was there until his leg brushed up against yours.   


There was no judgment on his face as he listened to you, just a soft smile as he watched you reminisce, and you sat up, scooting closer to him. He propped you up on his lap, and you draped your arms around his neck, swallowing hard.   


“For most of my life, my dad was my best friend. He still worked his ass off for my granddad, but he made more than enough time for me, and his ‘assistant’ Oscar, was my other parent, basically. Tyson knew about their arrangement, and he accepted that my dad was going to live his life, however secret, and though there were whispers about Oscar in their social circles, nothing was ever confirmed. But when my grandfather passed, I was about thirteen. I knew enough about who and what my father was, and I finally sat him and Oscar down and told them to stop pretending. They were crazy about each other, but they were still keeping separate bedrooms for appearance's sake, and I thought it was stupid.”  


“How did your dad react, Doll?”  


“He was relieved, I think,” you smiled softly, using your wet fingers to smooth Negan’s hair. “He’d spent his life hiding who he was, and he was finally able to live on his own terms. He was finally able to stop pretending to be something he wasn't.”  


“I gotta say, you and I grew up a helluva lot differently,” he mused. “My mom was a schoolteacher and my dad was a factory worker. Total middle class.”  


“I know I was blessed, and I never wanted for anything,” you told him, “but we didn’t live as extravagantly as you would think. We had a nice house and I went to private schools, but there were no golden toilets or anything. My dad didn’t want to raise a spoiled little princess, so I had to get an afterschool job when I was seventeen, and pay for my own car insurance.”  


“He sounds like a really cool guy.”  


“He was. I wish you could’ve met him. You would’ve liked him.”  


“I’m sorry,” Negan stretched his legs out, turning the water off since the tub was about ready to overflow. “How long ago did you lose him?”  


“He had a stroke my first semester of college,” you muttered, thinking back on the phone call from Oscar that changed your life. “His whole left side ended up paralyzed, and I left school to head home. He was in the hospital for about two weeks, and then we brought him home. My dad was pissed, and he sent me back to college, and Oscar set up home care, but he mostly did everything himself. He retired and sold his stake in the company, and just after my wedding, he had another massive stroke.”  


“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Negan hugged you closer to him, your body slipping against his as you rested your lips on his shoulder. “That’s way too young to lose your parent.”  


“I still have Oscar,” you sniffled, keeping the tears at bay because you didn’t want to cry. “He was so lost without my dad for so long.”  


Negan rubbed your back, and you shut your eyes, missing your dad so terribly that you couldn’t help but breathe shakily. When you sat back up, Negan kissed the tip of your nose, and it made it better.   


“My father left me a third of his estate, Oscar a third, and the rest went to charity. So when I say I put Mark through school, I literally paid for his schooling.”  
  
Negan’s face darkened at that, and you shook your head. “It’s okay. The house is paid for in my name, and we signed a prenup. He’ll never get his hands on any of my money.”  


You didn’t want to talk about such melancholy shit anymore, pecking his lips to chase away the past and stay firmly in the present. He reciprocated, grabbing one of the washcloths off the edge of the tub, saturating it with water, and squeezing it over your breasts. The bubbles trailed down your chest and stomach, giving him the chance to lick at your nipples, and you tilted your hips along his semi-hard cock, creating a wave in the water.   


“I could do this all night,” he mouthed around your breast, spreading your ass cheeks, and you savored the licking heat that was traveling up your spine. “You feel so fucking good.”  


Continuing to rock back and forth, you brushed your clit along his dick, which was laying flat against his abdomen, and when it was fully hard, you leaned back, your breast popping free from his mouth. He locked eyes with you, all dark pupils and wet lips, and you raised up on your knees, holding him firmly by the base. He pushed up into you, groaning so deeply in his throat that you sank down, whimpering as he stretched you out for the second time that night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had sex twice like that, and you knew that your thighs were going to be sore in the morning. But right then, it was deliciously burning, and you began to move up and down.  


Every time you pushed down to the base of his dick, your clit brushed up against his hair, which was sculpted and short, but not overly so. Clean and just the right amount, it provided all the friction you needed without any more stimulation, yanking his head back to expose his throat. Doing so rewarded you with a panting sigh, and you tongued his neck, controlling the pace. Negan’s hands closed around your waist, digging in as you made your strokes on his cock tighter and faster, squeezing your walls to feel every inch he had, not even noticing that the water was splashing out of the tub onto the floor.  


“Fuck, baby,” Negan groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, and it was the most beautiful, sexy sight of your life. “Where have you been my whole life?”  


“Waiting,” you panted, freezing when his hands held firmly onto your waist, leaving you half-up and half-down on his dick. “For you, Negan.”  


“Yeah, you were, weren’t you?” his tongue poked out through his lips, and he began to thrust up into you, making your arms leave his neck to hold the lip of the tub, steadying yourself. “You need this, don’t you? You need me to make you feel good?”  


“Yes,” your eyes closed on their own because every sense that you possessed was focused on the welling heat between your legs, across your skin where he was touching you, and your brain went dormant as he assaulted you physically and verbally in the best way, telling you how much you needed him, how he had to have you like this, and you agreed, curling in on yourself when your orgasm hit, crying his name out in a wave of joy.   


Negan wasn’t done, though, and you used your remaining energy to tighten your walls around him, pinching his nipples between your thumbs and forefingers, biting down on his ear until he clamped down on your thighs, jerking his seed into you. As you both came down from your respective highs, he whispered sweet words of affection in your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Doll. So goddamned perfect.”  


Your muscles were contracting on their own, and you dragged yourself upright to place your lips to his, moving them back and forth in a kiss to seal your rapidly growing feelings for him. Locked together for several minutes, you reluctantly broke the embrace, giving him a tentative smile. “We made a mess.”  


He looked around at the floor around the tub, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll clean it up. Haul your fine little body out of here and get in the bed.”  


You managed to make it out of the tub pretty gracefully, you were proud to say, handing him a towel and drying yourself off with the other. The whole time, his eyes tracked your every movement, and when you were done, you got back into the robe, bringing him the other one as he mopped up the spilled water.   


The room had its own balcony, and instead of crawling into the bed, you stepped out into the night, clearing your head with the fresh air and light sounds of traffic below. It was crisp but not cold, and you sat down in one of the chairs, bringing your knees up and wrapping the robe around your legs. How fast was too fast to move on, you wondered. Granted, Mark and Amber moved on just fine while still married, but for every second that you spent with Negan, you could tell that your feelings were growing at an alarming rate.  


_Keep things in perspective_ , your brain told you, trying to drown out the words your heart was shouting. _You barely know each other. Go slow. You’ve just gotten hurt by the one person you thought you were going to grow old with._  


_Don’t deny you care for him,_ your heart argued, fighting to be heard. _You’re allowed to seek your own happiness. Fight for it._  


“I thought I told you to go to bed,” Negan’s tone was teasing as he slid the door open, shutting it behind him before dropping down into the seat next to you. His hand rested on your knee, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.   


“I just needed some air.”  


“Or space from me?”  


“No.”  


The denial was less than convincing, and his hand lifted off of your robe-covered leg, but you snatched it back, bringing it to your lips and kissing the top of it. “I don’t need space from you, I swear. I’m just…”  


“What?” he prompted you after waiting for you to finish.   


“I don’t want to freak you out,” you muttered, pressing your lips back to his hand.  


“What? Are you married or something?”  


You laughed lightly, not resisting when he freed his hand, though he used it to slide your chair closer to his so that he could put his arm around you, and you felt safe enough to tell him the truth, even if it did scare him away because you wanted him to know what he was getting into with you.  


“I know I shouldn’t pressure you, because you’ve been through hell this week, and no matter what I say or do, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, Negan. But when I said I liked you, I meant it. I like you a whole lot more than I thought was possible after this short a time, and the more seconds, or minutes, or hours I spend with you, the more I feel it, and it scares the shit out of me.”  


“It scares the shit out of me, too,” he murmured, and your head flew back in shame. “No, not you, Doll,” he laughed at your reaction. “The fact that I feel it, too. I don’t want to rush you, but honest to Christ, I really want to go all-in with you. It’s freaking me out, because I’ve lived like a fucking zombie for years, and it’s like I just woke up from the stupor I was in. My head’s telling me to calm the hell down, that you’re going to figure out what an asshole I am and tell me to get lost, but my heart’s just telling me to go for it.”  


“So, what do we do?” your heart was dancing with joy, even as your brain mentally rolled its eyes at your impetuousness.   


“We’ll just take it day by day. Deal?”  


He stuck his hand out in the dark, and you wrapped your fingers around it, shaking it.   


“Deal.” 


	10. Wakeup Call

You roused from your sleep when you felt a warm erection pressing into your back. In your sleepy state, you thought it was odd that Mark had morning wood. It wasn’t his usual modus operandi, and you eased away, jerking when a low rumble sounded behind you. Turning your head, you realized immediately that you weren’t in bed with Mark, because you’d dropped the divorce papers on his head the preceding night, and you turned to face Negan, heat warming your cheeks as you thought about the previous night.   


He was only wearing his underwear, and you’d somehow ended up with all of the covers. His eyes were still closed, but he had a slight smile on his sleepy face, and you took the opportunity to explore his mostly bare body.   


“Mmmm,” he muttered, turning onto his back as you ran your fingers over his chest, stifling a laugh as you glanced south to see his penis poking out of the hole in his boxers. “How’d you sleep?”  


“Good,” you answered, feeling the giggles bubbling up as your hand drifted down towards his waistband. “You?”  


“Like a fucking rock.”  


“I can see that,” you huffed under your breath, using the tip of your pinky to brush it against his exposed member.   


“What can I say? He’s happy as a fucking lark to see you.”  


“Is that so?”   


Inching your head down his torso, you tugged on his waistband, easing the boxers down and letting his dick pop free. It was half-hard, and you felt his hand on the back of your head, pushing you further. With a soft chuckle, you sealed your lips around the ridge of his head, flattening your tongue against the slit. Negan immediately adjusted his hips, looping his fingers in your hair. You tasted just a drop of his pre-cum, and you circled your tongue around the soft skin, using your right hand to massage the base.   


“Good fucking morning to _me_ ,” Negan reached down with his free hand to yank his boxers lower, spreading his thighs for more access, and you were more than happy to continue, opening your mouth a little wider to take in more. He was bigger than Mark, with a longer and wider shaft, and you adjusted your position, raising up on one elbow.   


Halfway down, you let your throat loosen up, years of practice telling you that if you didn’t you were going to gag, trying to take as much of him in, and he drove his body up out of instinct, adding more pressure to the hair that he had in his grasp.   


“Your mouth is as fuckin’ hot and wet as your snatch,” the words were mumbled and low, but you heard him anyway, distinctly pleased to hear. With Mark, it was always quiet grunts and pants, but Negan was definitely a dirty talker, and you had no objections, beginning to bob your head, fighting a cough when he hit the back of your throat.   


As you became more repetitive with your lips and tongue, you used your left hand to cup his balls, tugging on them and getting a pleasured sigh from the action. There wasn’t quite enough access, and you sat up, wiping your mouth as he tried to push your head back down to finish.   


“Hang on, Skippy,” you teased him, sitting up and sliding the boxers all the way off. That way, you were able to crawl between his legs, spreading them obscenely as he dug his head into the pillow. He was tall, and his long legs had a light covering of hair that made you want to lick it, settling for that treasure trail instead. He did smell like musk, and you continued your path down, bypassing his dick to get more acquainted with his balls.   


As he’d done with you the night before, you pushed at his knees, exposing him completely to you, and seeing his chest heaving sent your head down, sucking on one sac as you fondled the other. He went to stroke his dick, but you slapped his hand away, making his eyes flutter open to see you grinning around your prize. Licking the seam, you wagged your finger at him, switching to the other side, and running the tip of your nail up the underside of the shaft.  


His entire body shivered in delight, and you continued your ministrations until he begged you to please put your cocksucking lips back where they belonged. The eye contact as you complied with his wishes was a heady feeling, and you doubled down on your efforts, humming every time he made it to your tonsils.  


“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, pistoning into your gaping lips. “I’m gonna-“  


When he came, he closed his hands around your head to hold you in place, spilling into your mouth and thrusting sloppily. The salty fluid pooled on your tongue, the added tang making your mouth water, and you swallowed around him, waiting until he freed you to sit up. You were sweaty and breathing heavily as he reached for you, but you rolled off of the bed, snagging your toothbrush to head to the bathroom.  


“Come back,” he pouted, and you winked at him over your shoulder before disappearing into the other room, cleaning your teeth before hopping back onto the bed. He’d put his boxers back on, laying on top of you. “I don’t mind kissing you after that,” he informed you, pinning your arms down and sliding his fingers between yours.   


“I had morning breath anyway.”  


“So do I, dollface, but it’s not going to stop me from doing this,” he pushed his tongue in, and you sighed happily as he went into a full-on makeout session. You didn’t know why, but just fooling around with someone new was one of the most enjoyable things that could be done in life. Sure, intimacy with a long-time partner was great, but when you were in the throes of a new…whatever you were doing, it was so much more electric. Every time he touched your skin or found a new part of your body to focus on, it was wildly erotic, and you felt your body molding itself to his, accommodating every part.   


Negan took his time, running his lips across your jaw and down the side of your neck, stopping at the top of your shirt. He let your arms free, and you ran your fingers through his hair, giving him a smile when he glanced up at you. “Are you always this agreeable in the morning?” One eyebrow cocked up, and you started to laugh.  


“Only when I see a one-eyed fisherman trying to bait me.”  


“Remind me to let you steal the covers every time we spend the night together.”  


Your smile dimmed, because you had no idea what was going to happen with the two of you. After you’d confessed to him that you were falling fast, he’d echoed the same, and you’d agreed to just take it day by day. In fact, you’d shaken on it, and you didn’t want your mind to race ahead to try to anticipate about a million different scenarios. For all you knew, this could be your only night together.  


“Don’t disappear into your head,” he warned you, flopping to his side and bringing you with him so that your head was on his chest. “We don’t have to figure this out today.”  


“I know,” you draped your arm over his side, and he covered you both with the sheet. “I just wish I could fast-forward, like, a year of my life.”  


“A year? Why?”  


“Because then I wouldn’t feel like such a hypocrite, I guess. Mark and Amber fucked around for months, but can you imagine how it would look if they found out about us? We’d look just as guilty, I think.”  


“The hell we would,” Negan forced you to look at him, and he was irritated. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and don’t let anyone make you think we have. You filed, and so did I. We weren’t sneaking around like a couple of cockroaches. “  


You knew that he was right, but it still felt like you were supposed to grieve your marriage ending. Ten years with Mark was over, and your future was uncertain. There were no guarantees that anything would come of the spot you quite literally found yourself in. Negan was slightly more than a stranger to you, and you didn’t know him like you knew Mark. Hell, maybe that was a good thing, but right now you were grappling with realizing that you didn’t end up where you thought you would. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but you were floundering.  


“Nope,” Negan sighed, kissing your forehead, and you shut your eyes. “Don’t overthink things, dollface. You’re going to be all right. _We’re_ going to be okay.”  


“I just-“  


“No,” he cut you off with a kiss, cupping the side of your face. He managed to alleviate your worries as he explored your body, tracing the curve of your hip and resting his hand on the small of your back. If you could just stay here, you’d be a happy camper, so when you finally came up for air, he continued to nip at your jaw, letting out a satisfied grunt that he’d distracted you.  


“All right,” you allowed, “I’ll shut up.”  


“Baby, I don’t want you to shut up your beautiful cock-sucking mouth. I want you to shut up your _brain_. We don’t have to figure everything out the first real fucking free day we have together. Let’s just enjoy it.”  


You sighed, both pleased and slightly embarrassed by his words, asking him what your day was going to entail. He rolled you onto your back, reaching for the hotel phone and asking for room service.   


“First things first, we eat. I’m fucking starving,” he waggled his eyebrows at you, ordering enough breakfast foods to choke a horse. After hanging up, he sat up, pulling you with him and marching you into the bathroom. While he brushed his teeth, you combed your hair, covering up your nightshirt, which probably wasn’t the sexiest thing to bring, but you had no way of predicting that you’d be shacked up with Negan.  


“Why don’t you see if the asshole packed up his shit, first of all,” he said around his toothbrush, prompting you to check your phone. It had spent the night in your purse, unneeded, and you turned it on, finding three voicemails, ten texts, and four missed calls from Mark. Your heart was starting to pick up speed, undecided if you wanted to listen to it or read anything he had to say after the night you’d just had.   


Choosing to start with the voicemails, you went out onto the balcony, starting with the earliest message, which he’d left about fifteen minutes after you walked out of the restaurant.  


_“Babe, pick up, please. Just let me explain, okay? I know I fucked up, but I can make this right.”_   


_“Please, please call me. I’m freaking out, and I need to talk to you.”_   


_“…please, baby…”_  


You felt a lump in your throat at the sadness in his voice, but one flash of Amber’s smug face made it dissipate, and you turned your attention to the texts, which were more of the same begging, asking for time to plead his case, and you sent him a reply, inquiring if he was done packing up his things.  


The second you hit send, your phone began to ring, and you let it go for almost fifteen seconds, bracing yourself to deal with Mark.   


“Hello?”  


You heard your name in a breathless plea, slumping down in the chair as he breathed in and out into your ear. “I called you all night, why didn’t you call me back?”  


“Why would I?” you snapped, feeling your temper rising. “I don’t have anything to say to you. The papers should’ve cleared everything up.”  


“That’s not fair. You dropped divorce papers on me, and I don’t even get a chance to defend myself?”  


“What defense?” your voice rose beyond a polite level, and you heard the door behind you slide open. “What possible fucking defense could you have for fucking someone else for four months? Please tell me right now, because I’d love to hear it.”  


“Just let me see you,” he begged, and you shook your head to yourself, avoiding Negan’s staring.   


“No,” you replied in a stony voice. “I don’t want to see you, Mark, I just want to know if you’re done packing up your stuff so I know whether or not I can go home today.”  


“Please, after everything we’ve been through, just let me come and talk to you.”  


“Are. You. Done. Packing?”  


Mark took forever to answer, finally telling you that yes, he was done, and you hung up, tossing your phone roughly onto the table. Your head dropped to your hands, and you let out a shuddering breath, unsure if you were angry or sad. He had no right to make you feel like you owed him a chance to explain his unforgivable behavior. A lesser woman would’ve pulled a Lorena Bobbit and cut his dick off while he was sleeping, but you’d quietly filed for divorce and freed him to screw whoever he wanted.   


When Negan began to rub your back, you pulled yourself together, sitting up to see him looking dubious. “I take it he wants to try to work things out?”  


“He wants the chance to defend himself,” you scoffed, staring out at the building across the street, lost in thought. “I’m not interested in anything he has to say.”  


“At least he’s attempting to try to come up with a bullshit excuse for hurting you,” Negan murmured, continuing to stroke your spine, and you kept yourself from turning to face him. “On some level, he feels guilty and cares about you. I got one text to get my stuff out of the house before she gets off work today.”  


You could hear some sadness in his voice, and you finally met his eyes, leaning back into his hold. You were confident that he didn’t want Amber back, but it had to hurt that she was so cavalier about betraying him, and you’d love to hunt her down and yank her artificially blonde hair out of her skull, one piece at a time.  


“If the house is in both of your names, you could fight it,” you offered, getting a snort in reply.   


“Doll, I don’t want to be in that house, and I don’t give a shit about it. It’s just a place to live, but goddamn, a little humility would’ve been nice.”  


That, you understood, and when a knock on the door announced your breakfast, he kissed your temple, leaving you to go let the person in. Once you heard the door close again, you padded in on your bare feet to see a huge spread, and Negan rolled the cart over to the bed, sitting on the end of it as he lifted the covers off of the various dishes.   


Crawling behind him, you put your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into his back and touching your lips to his cheek in a show of solidarity. He covered your wrists with his hands, leaning into your touch, and you kept quiet, letting him know nonverbally that you were there for him.  


When he let you go, you scooted yourself back towards the pillows, taking a slice of bacon when he started to set the plates on the mattress. You were both quiet as you ate, picking at fruit and waffles as he ate the eggs Benedict, sharing a cup of coffee.   


“When we’re done, let’s go pack you up,” you told him, brushing the hair off of his forehead, and he nodded once.   


“Wasn’t exactly the day I had in mind, but okay.”  


“Oh, come on,” you tried to lighten the mood, poking him in the side. “I really wanna see how many pairs of track pants you actually own.”  


“Hey, my ass fills out those polyester pants better than anyone alive.”  


“I’ve seen the other teachers,” you snickered as he looked up at you. “It’s not like you have a lot of competition.”  


Negan clawed your side, and you almost knocked the plates over, trying to dodge his fingers, screeching when he pinned you down, tickling your sides until you begged for a truce.  


“Who’s got the best ass in the world?”  


“You…do…” you said between squeals, trying in vain to protect your sides. “You do!”  


“Don’t you ever fucking forget it,” he stopped torturing you, kissing your neck instead, and after getting you panting in a different way, he sat up with a triumphant grin, dodging your attempts to pull him back down onto you. “We need to get showered and check out.”  


With that, he sidled off the bed, snagging his bag on the way to the bathroom, and you laid there as you listened to the shower start up, willing your libido to calm back down. Once you were under control, you stripped off your clothes, joining him in the shower, though you maintained a discreet distance as he washed his hair, dipping the soap under the water and lathering up a fresh washcloth.   


When he tried to help, you smacked his hands away, reminding him that you had things to do, and he left the stall with a grumble under his breath, turning into a blurry form behind the steam that coated the glass.   


By the time you got done, he was already dressed, and he told you he’d go down to complete the checkout, but you declined, asking him to wait until you were ready. When he wanted to know why, you hesitated only slightly, waiting until your back was turned to answer.  


“You’re not paying for the room, I am.”  


“I have more than enough money.”  


The words were chilly, and you felt your shoulders stiffen at the unspoken accusation. You didn’t want the financial disparity between the two of you to become an issue, and you pulled your clean shirt over your head, stepping into your jeans before turning around.  


“I know you do, but I’m the one that booked this place,” you explained. “If I’d gone with you to wherever you were going to stay, I’d expect you to pick up the tab. This has nothing to do with finances and everything to do with the fact that I made these arrangements.”  


He was unconvinced, and you stood in front of him, holding your ground.   


“I don’t want money to be an issue, Negan, because it’s been a problem for me before. I know I have it, but I don’t try to flaunt it, and I don’t bulldoze my way through life because of it. Now that you know about it, _is_ it going to be a problem?”  


He eyed you silently, and your chest burned from his stare, worried that it bothered him, something that you hadn’t picked up on the night before, too in a haze of desire and enjoyment at being with him.   


“I just don’t want you to think you have to pay for everything just because you’re rich,” he finally said, and you practically sagged with relief, bowing your head on his chest. He hugged you to him, and you snaked your arms around his waist, finally lifting your face to see him giving you a tender look. “I’m not rich, Doll, so I can never drop serious dough on you like Dr. Prick would’ve eventually been able to, but-“  


“I don’t give a shit about your finances, and I never cared about Dr. Prick making good money,” you said, squeezing his waist for emphasis. “I don’t expect to pay for everything, especially when _you_ ask _me_ out. That’s your job,” he smiled unwittingly at your words. “When I make the plans, I pay. Deal?”  


Instead of shaking, like you’d done previously, he goosed you, and you melted in solace, happy that you’d gotten that out of the way, at least for now.   


“Let me finish getting ready and we’ll blow this pop stand.”  


“Hurry up.”  


Winking, you went back into the bathroom to dry your hair and put on makeup, returning to find the plates stacked up on the cart and the bed made, making you smile. At least this one cleaned up after himself.  


When all of your essentials were put back in your bag, he took your hand, and you started off to spend your first real day together, and even though it involved having to step into Amber’s house, you were happy, because you were going to spend more time with Negan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, marital drama and an unforgettable party...


	11. Fly Away Home

“Good morning, Poppet. Sleep well?”  


You accepted a fresh cup of coffee as you trudged into the kitchen, kissing Oscar on the cheek. “Morning, papa.”  


Oscar wasn’t your father, but he was your parent all the same. He’d been there for your first steps, for skinned knees and broken hearts. Lost friendships, and the death of your father. The aftermath of ending your marriage had done a number on both your psyche and your self-esteem, so you’d fled for the safety of his house, licking your wounds and seeking his advice. Plus, you felt you owed it to him to break the news about your divorce in person.  


Saturday had been okay, considering. Going with Negan to his house and packing up his things was more somber than you had expected, but closing the door on his marriage wasn’t something to celebrate, despite his misgivings from the beginning. More than once, you’d caught him just staring off into space, retreating to another room to give him some time to come to terms with the changes in his life, thanks to you. No, not thanks to you, you tried to tell yourself. Because of Amber and Mark.  


There were plastic storage containers in his basement, and you concentrated on his clothes and other effects while he packed up old trophies, books, some vinyl records, and a few pictures. All in all, it took you only a few hours, and once everything was loaded into the bed of his truck, he tossed his house key on the counter, strolling out the door with purposeful steps.   


You’d hesitantly asked him if he wanted any of the furniture or decorations, getting a brief shake of the head in reply. His home had been done in a modern style, all leather couches and metal framework tables and shelves. It wasn’t your style, but Negan seemed to fit in well.  


Once he’d started the car, he let out a deep breath, and you placed your hand on his shoulder, saying nothing. He offered you a smile, and you drove in silence across town to a large brick home, set back from the road with a curved drive, and a little girl outside with a dog.  


She came running up as soon as he stopped the vehicle, stepping up on the running board. She was a cute little thing, with dark pigtails and flushed cheeks, and you found yourself entranced as she bounced up and down excitedly.  


“Uncle Negan, Fletch and I are playing,” she announced, hopping down so he could open the door. The girl appeared to be about five or so, not that you had any clue, and you exited the truck, coming around the back to see him holding her up as his dog bounced around his legs. He was cute as hell, with brown and white fur and a big, lolling tongue, barking to make his presence known.  


“Emily, I want you to meet my friend,” Negan said, turning towards you, and you gave her a little wave. He introduced you, and she smiled shyly at you, ducking her head as you got closer. Fletch wasn’t as unsure, barreling into your shins and wiggling his butt when you bent down to scratch him. He was adorable, and you squatted down, getting licked from ear to ear, laughing.  


When you glanced up, Negan was watching you with a grin, and he set Emily down, who promptly started calling for her dad, telling him that Uncle Negan was here.   


“Looks like my boy likes you.”  


“I like him too,” you laughed, falling backward as he jumped up, making you lose your balance. As you entertained the dog, he started to take out some of the totes, telling you he’d be right back, and you watched as he went around to the side of the house. It turned out that Simon had a walk-out basement, and Negan was going to be staying in the finished area while he looked for someplace to live. It had a bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and a pool table, and once he let you help him bring the rest of his things in, you both set to work getting his essentials put away.   


The remaining boxes were stacked in the corner, and Simon came down just as you were finishing up, greeting you in French. He seemed to be a very outgoing and friendly guy, and you chatted with him as Negan went into the bathroom, thanking him for his assistance the night before.   


“It’s a shame you didn’t actually get to eat,” he lamented, stroking his mustache. “Our chef last night was hitting on all cylinders.”  


“Well, I hope to get the chance to come back.”  


“You did the right thing by telling him, you know.”  


Your head jerked to the right to face Simon, who offered you a grateful smile. “I’ve known him almost my entire life, and he hasn’t been himself since Lucille died. But the past few days, I’ve caught glimpses of the old Negan, and it’s because of you.”  


“I still feel like I messed up everything for him,” you glanced towards the bathroom, but the door was closed, and you took a deep breath. “It was bad enough knowing myself, but then dropping it all on him…”  


“That girl was bad news,” Simon’s voice dropped to a lower register, “and she knew damned well that his head wasn’t in the right space to be in a relationship after Lucille. Negan’s a good guy that tries to do the right thing, mostly, and she sunk her claws into him. He was vulnerable. She’s a user.”  


Lifting his right hand, he placed it gently on your shoulder, squeezing it in support.  


“You were in a crappy situation last night, but Negan only had eyes for you,” he said. “I’m not saying I think the two of you should run off and elope or anything, but there’s something there, and you’re good for him.”  


“I like him,” you admitted, unsure why your lip trembled as you said it. “I really do.”  


“Once he cares about someone, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them,” Simon’s face turned thoughtful. “He’s not perfect, trust me, but he has a heart of gold. He just needs someone to remind him that he deserves to be happy. Losing Lucille did a real number on him.”  


All you could do was nod, and he took a step back as the door opened, punching Negan in the chest before heading back up to the main floor, leaving you in an awkward silence until Negan asked you if you wanted to hang out there or go somewhere else. You told him you’d prefer to get some lunch, and he led you back out to his truck, waving to Emily and Simon, who were sitting in the yard with the dog, playing.  


He took you to a little deli down the street, and your conversation remained casual, just small talk about the upcoming week. Negan let you know that he had track meets or practice most days after work, though his schedule would get a little better once school was out in a few weeks. As he ate, he grilled you on what your plans were, and you mentioned that other than Lou’s birthday party on Friday night, you weren’t sure.  


As he drove you home, he absently stroked your thigh, and you began to feel like he was distancing himself just a bit. What had started off on a promising note devolved into a subdued day together, and you almost welcomed being alone for the night. Negan’s reaction to moving out left you with some questions of your own in regards to how you were processing the end of your relationship, and when he pulled in, you gave him a chaste kiss, telling him you’d call him later. He didn’t offer to come in, and you unlocked your door, leaning against it as you heard him drive away.   


A little lost, you wandered around your house, looking through your things to see what Mark took, finding only a few items gone, outside of his clothes and things. Had he been pragmatic, packing up his life, or was he regretful, as Negan seemed to be? Your wedding picture was still up on the fireplace, and you picked it up, studying the two of you.   


It had been one of the happiest days of your life. Walking down the aisle with Oscar on one side and your dad on the other, Mark had watched you with glassy eyes. You’d never felt more loved and loving than at that moment, but now, all you could see was a young woman who’d fallen for someone much harder than they had for her. Mark was smiling at the camera, but in your current state, it was nothing more than a self-satisfied smirk. The look of a man who’d pulled one over on a lovestruck little rich girl.   


Fighting back tears, you carried the picture down to the basement and into the storage room, tossing it into an unpacked box of books. _Goodbye, dummy_. You just weren’t sure if you were the idiot or he was.   


By the time the sun went down, you’d stripped your bed, cleaned out Mark’s side of the closet and all his drawers, and swept the entire house, working overtime to keep from thinking about the garbage fire that was your life. No longer able to avoid your own self-pity, you took your phone and a glass of wine out to the firepit, curling up to scroll through Facebook. Out of habit, you typed in Amber’s name, cussing out loud when her new profile picture loaded on your screen.  


This bitch had changed her profile to a shot of her and Mark, heads tilted towards each other, both wearing drunken smiles. You had no idea when it had been taken, but the sheer gall of this homewrecking piece of shit just floored you. Her marriage was barely dead on arrival, and she was already flaunting her affair.   


How people moved through life with no empathy or class just stymied you. Maybe it was because you were raised by parents who had morals and values. Who always taught you to treat people with respect. ‘The same people you see on the way up will be there on the way down’, your dad used to say. You never really understood until you were older, but it was true, and you hoped that a heaping dose of karma would come her way someday.  


As you chugged the last of your drink, your phone began to ring, and you answered, setting the glass aside and reaching for the shawl that you kept out here for chillier temperatures.  


“Hello?”  


“Hey, Dollface,” Negan said, sounding sad.  


“Hey.”  


“I’m sorry I was a fucking downer today. I didn’t think that going there and packing up my stuff would hit me like that.”  


“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Negan. In fact, I’d probably think less of you if you didn’t get bothered by it.”  


Negan let out an unsteady breath into your ear, but you pressed on.   


“None of this is easy, despite how we feel,” you hoped your thoughts were coming out the right way, and you stared up into the sky. “One of the things I really like about you is your empathy, and I feel for you. I really do. Even if the breakup is a good thing, any normal person would still have regrets. It makes you human.”  


“Are you having regrets?”  


“Kind of,” you admitted, “only because I wasted so many years on someone that never took our vows seriously. It’s more of a personal blame that I’m putting on myself because I feel like I should’ve seen it sooner.”  


“Honey,” he sighed, and it sent a wave of warmth through your limbs. As badly as you wanted to just get into your car and drive to Simon’s just to climb into bed with him, you knew that you both needed a bit of time and space, and you sighed right back.  


“Will you call me tomorrow? Try to get some sleep?”  


“Yeah,” you noted how tired he sounded right then, and you carried your glass in with you as you said your goodbyes, locking the doors and heading up to sleep alone.  


That was when the dreams started, burrowing down into your soul, whether awake or unconscious, and you just couldn’t shake them. Seeming to stretch on forever, they were a loop of insults and insulting images. Mark and Amber chasing you like serial killers as you tried to flee from their vicinity. But your legs would sink down into the grass or hardwood, and you’d struggle to free yourself as they taunted you, trading sloppy kisses and gropes.  


_“You were always just a meal ticket,” Mark said, nosing Amber’s cheek. “There’s no way I was ever going to stay with you.”_   


_“Oh my God,” Amber shrieked. “She seriously thought you loved her? Look at her!”_   


_Mark would turn to face you as you reached up to him for help, but he’d slap your hand away in disgust. Amber would take off his wedding ring, tossing it over her shoulder, the two of them would walk away, leaving you floundering for solid ground._

_“On some level, you must’ve known,” Mark would say, and the words echoed in your head each time you woke._  


Sunday morning, you chalked it up to just a bad dream, busying yourself by spending the afternoon with Lou and texting Negan. On Monday, you weren’t as able to bounce back, and you called around to every charity in the area to see if you could volunteer, making plans for the following week as you had limited contact with Negan.  


By Tuesday, you could no longer tell what was true and what was just your own doubts manifesting in such a destructive way, and being alone wasn’t an option anymore. Mark had been bombarding you with texts, which you refused to answer, and you needed someone to talk you down. Oscar was your only other family support system, outside of Mark, so you called and told him that you were flying in that day.  


He knew you well enough not to question it, simply saying that he couldn’t wait to see you, and you booked a same day flight to Martha’s Vineyard, leaving a message for Negan while he was still teaching. Of course, he tried to call you just as you were turning your phone off for the flight, and you spent the entire trip lost in thought, looking out blindly over the world. Mark didn’t pay for the rent he’d taken up in your head, and neither did Amber. So why was it so hard to dismiss your nightmares as just subconscious rumblings?  


Oscar had an idea after you arrived, melting into his arms and spilling out all your troubles to him. He swept around the kitchen in a blur, a master of multitasking after so many years of dealing with your dad, and he set a cup of tea in front of you, perching on the seat across so that he could see your face.  


“You have every right to be suspicious, Poppet,” he said, calling you by your childhood name, allowing you to relax into a more familial state. “Cheating is a betrayal of your vows, and it’s left you wondering if they ever meant anything to him, but I think that they did.”  


“You didn’t see what he was saying and doing with that other woman,” you stirred in some sugar, trying to tamp down on the tears that were bubbling up. “It’s like I didn’t exist, or I was some sort of barrier to his happiness.”  


“You were going to spend the rest of your life with him, and now you’re forcing yourself to move on, but I remember when you brought him home for the first time. He never looked at what you had as a step up for him. His eyes were only on you.”  


“I used to think so,” you shook your head, remembering how wide-eyed and uncomfortable Mark was when you pulled up to this very house. “Now I feel like I was used.”  


“He never asked you to pay for his school, you offered it,” Oscar reminded you. “He signed the prenup that your dad had drafted, and at that point, neither of you had any idea what was in his will.”  


“You’re making me feel worse because that means he just fell out of love with me.”  


“Oh, Poppet,” he sighed, reaching for your fingers and giving them a squeeze. Oscar’s eyes were shining, and your chin began to tremble. “It hurts so much, but it happens, and you deserve someone that sees your inner and outer beauty and appreciates it. That cherishes it.”  


He pulled you onto his lap, and you found yourself crying like a child, pouring out the grief that you didn’t want to burden Negan with. Being rejected and blindsided sucked, and you knew you weren’t the first person to ever be betrayed, but when it was you, it felt like it was.   


When you managed to get yourself together, he patted your cheek lovingly, taking you into the bathroom and giving you a sleeping pill so that you could get a decent night’s sleep.   


You set your bag down on your old bed, popping the pill in your mouth and swallowing it dry, flopping on the bed with your phone. It was after dark, and you saw that Negan had tried to call again, so you kicked off your shoes, covering yourself with the blanket that sat on the edge of the mattress, dialing his number.  


“Hello?”  


“Hi,” you murmured, your body relaxing slightly just from hearing his deep voice.   


“You all right, Doll?”  


“No,” you admitted honestly, closing your eyes so that you could see his face in your mind. There were a hundred things that you wanted to say to him, but nothing would come out. You wanted to tell him that you missed him and that not seeing him for days was taking a toll on you. You ached to tell him how much you cared about him, and that you were afraid he’d been trying to pull away from you in his own way. Mostly, you just wanted to say his name, because it felt so right on your tongue.   


“When you told me you were leaving, it kinda freaked me out.”  


“It did? Why?”  


“Because I feel like you’ve been out of it the last few days, and you just don’t want to fucking tell me that you need time. I know that you do.”  


“No, I thought that you did. You’ve been so busy with moving and school, and I figured that you were the one that was reconsidering spending time with me.”  


“Dollface,” he took a deep breath, and you clutched the phone a little tighter, “I fully admit to behaving like a little bitch on Saturday, but I just wanted you to have some distance because you’re going to end up realizing that you're free for the first time in ten years, and I don’t want you to regret jumping right into another relationship right after that fucker fucked you up so badly.”  


You thought about his words, what he was saying without actually saying it, and it hurt you in a way that you weren’t quite ready for. Realistically, he had a point. You were still young, and most people would want to get out there and see what the dating world had to offer, but that wasn’t you. Even before Mark, there were only a few boyfriends. Bed hopping and meaningless hookups weren’t your thing. You preferred a real connection, and you knew you had it with him.  


“I know what I want,” you told him softly. “I want to be with you, Negan. I want to spend more time with you, and I care about you. This isn’t just a rebound fling for me, but maybe you’re projecting your own desires onto me.”  


“That’s fucking bullshit,” he snapped, barely breaking through the rapid effects of Oscar’s sleeping pill, and you mumbled that you had to go, the phone dropping limply onto the bed. You were asleep in seconds, and you never even disconnected the line.

  


The next morning, you woke up to the sun streaming in through the gauzy curtains, and you laid there for a few minutes, replaying what you could remember from your phone call with Negan. A hot spike of embarrassment blew through you like a summer wind, and you sat up, wondering if you’d screwed up by calling him out like that.   


Glancing at the clock, you saw that he was probably already at school, and you fought the urge to send him a message, resolving to devote your day to yourself and Oscar. You needed a break from being you, so you showered and dressed, going out to find him dressed and waiting for you.   


“Good morning, Poppet.”  


“Morning, Papa,” you greeted him with a kiss and a forced smile, determined to have a great day. “What are you up to?”  


“I was planning on going into town to order new drapes for the living room,” he said, watching as you munched on a fresh chocolate croissant. “Would you like to join me?”  


“Of course.”  


The house that you used to spend summers in looked like it was ripped straight out of a Nora Ephron movie, with plush white furnishings and sumptuous décor. Most of the home was done in shades of white, cream, and blue, and it was classic Martha’s Vineyard. Oscar made minor changes for every season, though you couldn’t see anything wrong with the drapes that were already there.   


He chatted as you drove downtown, updating you on the comings and goings of the neighbors, most of whom predated your family, and you let yourself relax in the sun since he’d put the top down in the convertible. The great thing about the area, aside from the scenery was the shopping. You went into a zone, stopping in your favorite shops and placing orders in every one, arranging for everything to be delivered to your house the next day, and the two of you stopped at a local restaurant, lunching and just getting out of your own head, even managing to stave off your worries that you pushed Negan too far.  


It was late afternoon when you arrived back at the house, leaving Oscar inside to go out and sit on the beach. It was still too early in the season to swim, but you carried out a blanket, plucking a piece of seagrass and running it between your fingers as you sat on the dune, listening to the waves as they crashed against the shore.   


If your dad was here, he’d be perched next to you, telling you all about the tides and the moon’s effects on them. He’d always been a science nut, and you often told him that his talents were wasted. He was a great businessman, no doubt, but it was just another thing that he’d done at your grandfather's insistence. The Andrews family were steel men. Businessmen and you’d unconsciously begun to follow in their steps, having earned a degree that you hadn’t done anything with.  


Impulsively, you snapped a picture of the scenery, sending it with a text to Negan that you wished he was there. He responded about a minute later, saying he wished he was too.  


_-I’m sorry for what I said._  


_**-You didn’t say anything wrong, Doll. We just need to learn to communicate better. Both of us are fucked up right now.** _   


_-I don’t want to be fucked up, Negan. This is why I said I wanted to fast-forward. I just want the crappy part to be over._   


_**-It will be soon, I promise. When are you coming home? I miss your face.**_  


You tried to take a selfie to send him, but every time you pressed the button, you ended up looking like shit, finally just taking a profile pic instead. For once in your life, you thought it was arty and beautiful. Your face was solemn, and the sun had left your skin golden and your eyes bright. A few strands of hair blowing across your cheeks made the picture almost mysterious, and you sent it with only the word ‘tomorrow’.  


Your phone rang a few minutes later, and when you answered, Negan chuckled in your ear. It was music to you, a siren song, and you longed to just board a plane right then and drive straight to Simon’s house to see him.   


“You are fucking killing me, Dollface. How the fuck are you so goddamned beautiful all the time?”  


“It’s not beauty,” you laughed. “It’s a mid-life crisis and beach hair, but thank you.”  


“Oh, you’re the whole fucking package, baby. Someday, I’ll make you believe it.”  


You were speechless until he asked you to send him a titty pic, and then you busted out in a full guffaw as he innocently asked why you were laughing. God, you needed to see him, and you asked him if he’d come over tomorrow after work.  


“I’ll be there after practice, but do me a favor,” he said, and you stretched back onto the blanket, waiting. “Shut that goddamned brain off. Promise me?”  


“I promise, Negan.”  


“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, but this picture will hold me over for the night,” he teased, hanging up.  


You spent the rest of the night with Oscar, reminiscing and just talking, and when you finally headed to bed, he pulled you into his arms, just holding you like he used to. “Dad is watching over you, Poppet.”  


“I know. He’s watching over both of us, and he’d want you to be happy, Papa.”  


He froze in your arms, but you only held him tighter, whispering into his ear. “It’s okay to move on. It’s okay for both of us to move on.”  


Oscar let out a choked sound, and he released you, wiping his eyes before heading off to his room. You watched him round the corner, his door closing softly, and you went to your room, hoping that he was at peace. He was too young to spend the rest of his life mourning your dad, and he deserved to find someone new, someone that could appreciate all that he had to offer.   


The next day, you kissed him goodbye at the airport, and as he drove away, you waved, heading in to wait for your flight. Unlike when you left, you were actually in a decent mood, and you knew you just needed a break, both from the dreams and from the stasis in your life. Sitting at home in a big house just replaying everything that went wrong was doing you no good, and you were looking forward to meeting with the owner of the Kingdom Rehabilitation Project.   


You’d spoken with a man named Ezekiel when you were calling around looking for volunteers, and he’d invited you to come and see the repurposed school where he cared for troubled and at-risk youths. They came to live on the property, learning life skills and doing labor to maintain the property, and it intrigued you. Though you didn’t need an income, you definitely needed a purpose, and helping others less fortunate was appealing. You always donated to several charities, but writing a check didn’t feel like enough anymore. You need to get out there and make a difference.  


The flight back was uneventful, and you drove home with heightened anticipation, looking forward to seeing Negan. He’d mentioned that he’d be over after coaching practice, and you turned onto your street, slamming on the brakes when you saw two familiar vehicles parked in your driveway.   


With shaking hands and adrenaline coursing through your body, you nearly sideswiped Negan’s truck as you parked next to Mark’s car, finding both of them standing in your front yard, ready to come to blows.   



	12. The Outsiders

You watched in a haze as Mark and Negan circled each other in the grass, posing like two gladiators ready to fight to the death. At the same time, your neighbor George was standing with a hose in his hand, staring blankly at the immature display. He’d been watering his flowers, but he was now so distracted that the spray was hitting his front window, adding to the noise that was reverberating throughout the neighborhood.  


No one seemed to notice that you’d pulled up, and when you opened your door, you could hear the two men shouting at each other.   


“What the fuck are you even doing here?”  


“ _Me?_ What the fucking fuck are you going into her house for? You don’t live here anymore.”  


“She’s my wife, asshole,” Mark sneered, taking a step to the side as Negan advanced on him. He was wearing his scrubs, and you scrambled out of your seat, jumping over the flowers that bordered your drive to try to get between them.   


To any stranger that would happen by, it looked like a very lopsided fight, and you would have to agree. Mark wasn’t short, but he was positively dwarfed by Negan, who was still dressed in a white t-shirt and track pants. The sleeves strained against his bulky arms, and you opened your mouth to tell them both to stop when Negan noticed you, going still.   


Mark turned his head, and you could see the absolute indignation that colored his features as he glanced between you and the other man. Obviously, he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that there was something going on between the two of you, or Negan wouldn’t be at your house, and you threw your hands up in the air.  


“What in the hell is going on?” you hissed, directing your question to Mark, who edged closer, though Negan was the first one to reach you. “Why did I drive up to see you both acting like tantrum-throwing children in my front yard?”  


“It’s my house, too,” Mark was breathing heavily, and your eyes drifted beyond him to George, who was still blatantly trying to eavesdrop on the most ridiculous conversation to ever take place in your life.   


“I want both of you inside right _now_ ,” you left your car door open, stomping towards the front door, not even bothering to look back to see if they were following you. You were mortally embarrassed at the scene that just took place in full view of your neighbors, and you were pissed at both of them and their lack of maturity. One was a doctor and the other was a teacher, yet they had no problem behaving like two 'roided up teenagers just to prove who the bigger man was.  


Your packages that you’d had sent back from your trip were sitting on your porch, and you bypassed them, highly irritated that your door was unlocked because Mark still had his key. Whipping it open, you headed straight for the kitchen, resting your hands on the counter as you heard the shuffle of feet behind you.   


When you turned around, Mark was perched by the stove, and Negan was standing with his arms folded by the garage door, a good ten feet from each other. You met his eyes first, seeing that simmering anger there that was so similar to when he’d beat the crap out of the drunk groper that had grabbed you at the game.   


Mark, meanwhile, was as red as a Roma tomato, and you took a deep breath, crossing your arms and planting your feet.   


“What are you doing here, and who gave you permission to come in while I was gone?”  


“I’m not saying shit in front of _him_ ,” he spat, jumping just slightly when Negan made a move towards him, stopping only when you held your hand up pleadingly. His hand was clenched so tightly into a fist that it looked like he was losing feeling in his fingers, and you ordered Mark not to move, approaching Negan instead.  


“Can I see you outside?” you asked quietly, and he continued to stare daggers at Mark until you touched his bicep, breaking his focus. “Please?”  


He grunted once but didn’t resist when you guided him out to the backyard instead of the front. Pacing in a circle around the table, you counted to ten, clearing your throat. He stopped in his tracks, still wearing a mutinous look, and the hairs on the back of your neck were all standing at attention. It still threw you when you saw this side of him, not that it scared you or anything. On the contrary, the way that he leapt to a protective demeanor where you were concerned was touching, though it made for a very complicated situation currently.  


“Hi,” you said in a small voice, and he thundered towards you, stopping just short of kissing you, sensing that it wasn’t the right time.   


“I’m so fucking irate right now, Dollface,” he growled, looking you up and down like he wanted to take out every aggression that he was currently feeling on your body, and you suppressed a shiver of longing. “I got out early so I figured I’d drop by to see if you were home yet, and that fucker’s car was here. He had the brass balls to be inside while you weren't there.”  


“I forgot he still had a key,” you touched the center of his stomach with your index finger, wishing that you could just wrap your arms around his neck and plant a giant kiss on his lips, but Mark was the more pressing concern. “Will you do me a favor and please just wait here while I deal with him?”  


“I owe that fucker a good beatdown,” Negan’s nostrils flared, though he ran the palm of his hand along the top of your finger soothingly.   


“You’re not beating him down. He’s the kind of guy to press charges, and you’re not going to end up in jail or losing your job for something stupid like that.”  


“Oh, it’d be worth it, trust me.”  


“Negan…”  


“Just go talk to him and get him the fuck outta here before I change my mind,” he sighed after a moment, throwing himself down in one of the chairs, and you stared at him for a second before turning to walk back inside.   


Mark was now leaning against the sink, and you were positive he was watching the two of you out the window. You’d wanted your initial meeting with him to be on your terms, but when did he ever care what you want? Him being here along with Negan had you scrambling, and Mark could sense it, since he’d had ten years of reading you, and he pushed himself forward off of the sink, coming to stand directly across from you by the island.  


“Why is he here?”  


“Because I want him here,” you snapped, trying to right yourself emotionally, stuck in the throes of anger at having to deal with Mark so unexpectedly. “I don’t want _you_ here, and I’d like you to leave.”  


“I have a right-“  


“Do you even give a crap how hard this has been on me?” you broke in, shaking your head. “Can you even comprehend what I’ve been through the past few weeks?”  


His face fell, and he tried to circle around the island to get closer to you, but you matched his pace, keeping your distance. Eventually, he came to a stop, running his hand down the side of his face, and you noticed that he’d removed his ring. You didn’t want him anymore, but it still brought you up short, the realization that it was truly over. The only thing connecting you was a piece of paper that held the two of you hostage, and only a judge could really set you free.  


“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quietly, looking at you sadly. “It just happened, and…”  


“And, what?”  


“I still love you, babe. I never stopped loving you. I just got so caught up in someone seeing me.”  


“Seeing you? Are you trying to insinuate that I wasn’t _seeing_ you?”  


Mark swallowed as you struggled to understand what the hell he was trying to get at. In all your recollections, you couldn’t remember treating him like he was invisible or that he didn’t matter, so you were stumped as to what he meant.  


“Not like a man,” he tried to clarify. “Not as a breadwinner or someone that could take care of you. And then I met her, and she just…it seemed like she held me in high esteem, and my ego just took over. I never thought about how it would affect you.”  


Well, that fucking hurt, and it lined up with every doubt you’d ever had about your relationship. Your nostrils started to sting, and you could feel the urge to cry building.   


“That is so unfair,” you let out a gasping breath. “I never once tried to use my money as an advantage over you. I tried to help you.”  


“You never asked,” his voice rose, making you rock back. “You just did it. You never stopped to discuss anything with me, and I felt- I feel like you always had the wheel in our marriage, and I was just along for the ride.”  


“So you sleep with someone else behind my back? If you were that fucking miserable and cuckolded, all you had to do was tell me, and I would’ve let you go. I never would've been vindictive and kept you in this marriage if you were that miserable.”  


“I didn’t want to go,” Mark was growing frustrated, and the red in his face was beginning to bleed down his neck and chest, and he slammed his hand down on the marble top. “I just wanted something that I couldn’t have. I still love you.”  


“And you love her, too, right?”  


“I don’t know. I really don’t. This is all so fucked up, and seeing you with that caveman is hurting me, babe.”  


You didn’t dignify his insult about Negan with a response, too preoccupied with his proclamation that he loved you and Amber. What kind of bullshit was he trying to pull?  


“If you love the two of us, why were you pressuring me to have a baby? Were you trying to convince her to do the same?”  


“Of course not,” he had the gall to look disgusted at the implication, but you went for the jugular.  


“Or was it because if I got pregnant it would nullify the prenup, thereby leaving you free and clear to divorce me and take half my money? I imagine that would mend your precious ego just fine.”  


The redness in his face began to fade, and a fine sheen of sweat started to form over his forehead. His eyes widened as if you’d startled him, and he began to go on the offensive. You’d hit a nerve he didn’t know he had, and in typical Mark fashion, he sought to blame you for all of your mutual problems. God knows you’d done some things wrong, but him trying to justify his affair by putting it all on you was such a pussy move, and you felt your insides begin to boil.  


“You’re fucking Amber’s husband and you have the audacity to act like you’ve done nothing wrong? That’s really rich. How long were you cheating on me with that loser?”  


“Negan,” you called out, more like an exasperated mother ready to scold an unruly child, but he responded right away, gliding into the kitchen with a grace that Mark would never have.   


“Oh, can I fuck him up now?”  


“No,” you said angrily, enjoying the way that Mark took an automatic step back as Negan came to stand shoulder to shoulder with you. “When did we meet? Mark would like to know.”  


“Let’s see,” Negan began to stroke the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, playing it up. “You introduced yourself to me just last Monday, and you were kind enough to give me a head’s up that this spindly little douchebag had been fucking my soon-to-be ex-wife for several months.”  


“And when did we first fuck?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as Mark’s mouth dropped open, feeling a hatred that you didn’t even know that you could.  


Negan’s booming laugh would’ve made you jump if he hadn’t already put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you flush to his side. You laid your arm across his stomach, glancing up at him, smiling at the sheer enjoyment this conversation had taken.  


“Well, that would be last Friday night after I filed for divorce and you served this same spindly fuck his papers. Twice,” he winked down at you, kissing the tip of your nose. “Not to mention the best blowjob I’ve had in years.”  


“So, of the three of us standing here in my kitchen, only one is an actual adulterer?”  


“Yes,” he said brightly, like he’d just passed an epically difficult test. “If Bambi was here, it’d be an even split of cheaters and non-cheaters.”  


“Great. Now that we’ve cleared that up,” you turned to face Mark, letting Negan go, though he didn’t do the same, you held out your hand. “I’m going to ask for my housekey back, and recommend that you haul ass to the Post Office to get your mail forwarded to wherever the hell you’re squatting. My guess is Amber and Negan’s place. Feel free to communicate through my attorney moving forward, and if you ever set foot here again, I’ll post billboards of your dirty cheating texts and pictures throughout the city.”  


“I’ll sue you,” he let out a high screech, flinging the key at you, and Negan caught it easily, slapping it down on the island as you physically held him back. “I’ll sue you for every penny you have.”  


“Virginia is a one-party consent state, you little prick,” you followed him towards the door, and he grabbed his mail, stumbling down the step out. “Begone. You have no power here,” you threw a little Glinda the good witch in for good measure, folding your arms as he gave you the finger.   


Poor George was still outside, and he dropped the hose as Mark let out a stream of cuss words, vowing to make you pay. In the back of your head, you made a mental note to call MaryAnn first thing in the morning to let her know and get her advice as to what you needed to do, and after his car (that you paid for) peeled out and took off, you collapsed against the doorframe.   


Negan passed by you without a word, walking to your car and getting your bag for you, closing and locking it. You were still staring off into space as he brought the packages in, carrying them to the kitchen, and you let him take your arm, guiding you into the house. He gently prodded you to lock the door and turn on the alarm, telling you that you’d need to call and change the code as soon as possible, but once it was armed, you threw yourself into his space, desperate to be kissed.   


He held your face in his hands, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that you so desperately needed, and you strained in his hold to try to reach his lips, but he was firm.  


“I heard everything, Dollface,” he got closer, but not close enough. “That prick was trying to gaslight you, and make you think that his wandering prick was on you, but it’s not. Take it from someone who knows. None of it was your fault.”  


Your breath came out in a rush, not because you believed him. You had your own role to play in the dissolution of your marriage, but the fact that it was said so earnestly was a balm to your tender, sore heart, and you managed to get close enough to lick his upper lip, your entire body filling with something akin to love when his eyes fluttered.   


“Take me to bed,” you asked in a low whisper, gasping when he lifted you up. Instead of carrying you in his arms, he slung you over his shoulder, and it was enough to make you laugh happily. You bounced the entire way up the steps, closing the door for good on Mark, and opening another with Negan.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, smut, feelings, and more smut!


	13. Ups and Downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am SO sorry for the delay. Life has been crappy and hectic over the last several weeks, but I promise that the next update will be Monday. Thank you so much for reading and being so supportive!

Negan set you down when he reached the top step, and you grabbed ahold of his elbows as the head rush hit you, blinking rapidly. All of your senses were magnified, from the sharpened images of him staring down at you to the feel of his hot skin underneath your palms. You could even detect the faint smell of strawberries on his breath, and you wondered if he’d eaten them for dinner. Mostly, you could taste him on your lips, a memory from days before, and you tilted your head up to kiss him, to recapture that unattainable taste.  


“Which room?” he asked before you could make contact, and you stuttered back a step, even though he kept a tight hold of your waist.   


Walking backwards, you led him towards your bedroom, your stomach queasy with desire as his chest flexed while he moved. Guiding him through the doorway, you started for the bed, but he turned you around, pressing his chest against your back, pushing you towards the bathroom.   


“What…why?” you tried to double back, but he forced you into the unlit room, and you reached out, turning on the light.   


“I need a shower first.”  


“No-“  


Negan cut you off by lifting your shirt over your head, taking liberties with your breasts as he did so, and you let out a soft moan when his hand cupped your neck, holding you in place.   


“ _We_ need a shower,” he amended, brushing his stubble along the back of your neck, and you went limp against him, vaguely aware of him tossing your shirt to the floor and unbuttoning your jeans. His hand slipped down into your panties, and you let your head fall back as manipulated his fingers to get you aroused. “You definitely need to be cleaned up, dirty girl. Look at you making a mess of my hand.”  


His vulgar repertoire wasn’t something that you were used to. Mark had never spoken to you that way, but you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you, especially when it was followed by a deep chuckle, and you felt your cheeks heat up.   


When he let you go, using his thumbs to slide both your jeans and underwear down your legs, you caught sight of him in the mirror, and he bent down with a wink, somehow undoing your boots and sucking on the back of your thigh at the same time.   


What was happening? How did you go from fighting with Mark to being utterly incapacitated by Negan? How did someone go from two extremes and not burst into a million pieces?  


Completely nude, you stood there as he passed by you into the shower area, turning on the water, and he crooked a finger in your direction. Like a dog taking cues, you made your way over to him, glancing up at him questioningly.  


“Really?” he teased you, lifting his arms. “I nicely undress you, and you can’t do the same, Dollface? I’m hurt.”  


His eyes were locked onto yours as you freed the hem of his shirt from under his waistband, sliding your nails along his stomach before removing the material. As soon as it was off, you could smell the sweat and heat, and it was a bigger turn-on than the expanse of skin that was right in front of your nose. In fact, you leaned forward, inhaling deeply, and he got goosebumps when you licked the chest hair between his pecs, the salty tang causing your mouth to water.   


Dragging your head south, you followed the trail of hair, dropping to your knees as he toed off his shoes. It only took a quick tug for the pants to fall down to his ankles, and it was just your typical luck when you decided to bend over further to help him when he lifted his right leg to step out. His knee made contact with your left cheek, knocking your head back with a cracking sound.  


“Holy fuck, are you all right?”  


He’d clocked you good, and your eye started to water as the numbing sting of being hit changed over into pain. Negan squatted down, still in his boxers as you clapped your palm to the area, seeing stars. At least he didn’t get your eye.  


“Let me see.”  


I’m fine,” you hissed through clenched teeth, backing away and getting to your feet in such an ungainly way that it probably killed any arousal you’d managed to elicit in him. “It just stings.”  


The heat of blood pooling in the spot warmed your palm, and you rushed over to the sink, turning it to the cold side, splashing your cheek to hopefully keep it from swelling. Negan went over to the towel rack, grabbing one of the washcloths and running it under the tap, turning you around and pressing it firmly against the spot. He’d lost the cocky playfulness of just a few seconds before and was staring grimly at his own knuckles, avoiding your eyes.  


It was an accident. You both knew it, but he felt guilty for doing it and you felt bad for the immediate rush of irritation that had bloomed up when happened, but most normal people would probably lash out in anger from the pain. Hell, when Mark had elbowed you in the boob on a roller coaster, you’d punched him in the side of the neck out of instinct, and it had been caught on the ‘scream cam’ for everyone to see. His friend Geoff had bought the picture and framed it as a gag gift. It was probably in the basement somewhere.   


All your experiences always came back to Mark. Mark and fucking Amber, and you stewed in the knowledge that you were tied to the two of them for the foreseeable future.  


“How fucking bad do you want to punch me right now?”  


“I don’t,” it was less than convincing, judging by the way his jaw flexed, and you crossed your arms over your bare chest, staring at his Adam’s apple instead of his face. Negan continued to press the washcloth to the throbbing spot until you finally pushed his hand away, muttering under your breath about the shower being ready. “Let’s just get cleaned up.”  


He didn’t follow right away, and you didn’t look back, choosing to park yourself under the left showerhead, leaving the other one running for him. The glass-enclosed space was large enough to fit at least four people, and you had already shampooed your hair and shaved your legs by the time he stepped in, turning his back on you. Watching him out of the corner of your eye, you could tell he was pissed, just by the way his shoulders were up near his ears, and you wanted to say something…anything, but nothing would come out.  


Not until he spoke over his shoulder, sounding annoyed.  


“I said I was sorry.”  


“No you didn’t,” you shot back, unsure as to why you were even trying to start an argument. “And I didn’t ask you to. I know it was an accident.”  


“Then why the fuck are you emotionally punching me in the dick?”  


“Because this isn’t the sexy reunion I signed up for,” your voice rose higher than it ever had before as you fumbled with your emotions. Negan whipped around in one spot, sending an arc of water across your face, and you wiped at it harshly, snagging your right cheek with your nails.  


“What the hell does that mean?”  


“A knee to the face, you barrelling behind Mark around my yard like a dog chasing a stray away,” the door opened with a squeal, and you stepped out, dripping from head to toe. “Excuse the hell out of me if that wasn’t the night I had planned.”  


With less than stellar precision, you tossed a fresh towel over the top of the shower, not giving him a chance to respond.   


By the time you heard the tell-tale creak of that one annoying floorboard underneath the carpet on Mark’s old side of the bed, you had already put on lotion and your robe, and you were currently laying on your side, staring out the window into the dusk.  


“Do you want me to leave?”  


“No,” you let out a little shudder, feeling embarrassed, and just flat-out sad. “Of course not.”  


“Then do you want to have an adult conversation?” he sighed as he came around to your side, sitting on the mattress and leaning into your side. He was still wet, and you felt your chin trembling on its own. This was the worst fucking week ever, and you expelled a tremulous breath in reply.  


“Is it always going to be about them?”  


“Is _what_ always gonna be about _who_?” Negan sounded far more patient than you expected him to be, nudging you with his forearm.  


“Is every interaction we have going to revolve around Mark and Amber,” you clarified, risking a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He was studying you, sending a flush of discomfort across your chest.   


Negan bit his lip, taking a deep breath, and the look on his face made you turn your face back into the pillow, where it stayed until you felt his thumb under your chin, tugging on it gently.   


“It just happened, sweetheart,” he reminded you, cocking his head to the side. “You know that, but the good news is that it gets better.”  


Obviously, he was right. The rational part of you was well aware of how much time had passed since you met the man that was staring down at you. Eleven days, to be exact. A short period, for sure, but so much had happened since that Monday that you tracked him down, and you just wanted to spend time with him and him alone, with no Amber or Mark hovering around the periphery, trying to drag you down with them in the mud.   


“You have every right to want to kick Mark’s ass, and I know it’s more about her than me,” you could see him start to object, and you shook your head. “It’s okay, I get it. But between that, you accidentally smacking me, which made me think about that dick once again, and him telling me that I did the one thing that I always swore I wouldn’t, I’m spiraling.”  


Feeling short of breath, you shut your eyes, reaching blindly for his hand, which he placed on your cheek, moving his thumb back and forth across your skin. It was soothing, allowing you to calm yourself until he told you to open your eyes. It sounded just a bit harsh, a little irritated.  


When you did, you saw Negan leaning over you with his mouth pressed into a tight line and a spark of anger on his face, even though he kept softly caressing you.   


“Nope,” he tutted when you started to speak, shaking his head. “It’s my turn to talk, and I want you to listen and focus. Understand?”  


“But, I-“  


“Hey,” he lightly flicked your cheek, and your eyebrows wrinkled up, throwing you off. “Shut up until I ask you a question.”  


You were moving from aching regret to borderline offended, but you nodded anyway because he was giving you an expectant look. After an appreciable amount of time, he cleared his throat, tipping you onto your back with one finger.  


“I’m running on the assumption that you had a pretty decent self-esteem going before that fuckwad blew it to smithereens recently,” Negan began, leaning to the side, resting his free arm alongside you. “I mean, you’re smart as hell, you have a great personality, and you’re fucking gorgeous. I’ve seen it firsthand. Am I correct?”  


He waited for you to answer, but you only shrugged. You weren’t full of yourself, but you had to admit that you were mostly happy with yourself until you found out that the person you’d planned on spending the rest of your life with was making a fool of you all over town, so he wasn’t wrong. The lack of spoken confirmation didn’t seem to phase him, and he continued.  


“Right, and given that said fuckwad knows you inside and out, it would be pretty easy for him to shake your confidence even further by tapping into the major insecurity that you have, which is your finances.”  


“I know that, but-“  


“I don’t recall asking you anything,” he cut in, giving you a steely look, running his finger down your lips. “Just fucking listen to what I’m saying.”  


Inhaling to keep from saying anything else, your jaw clenched on its own, and his expression turned into a smirk, which annoyed you more than it probably should.  


“Now, he told you that you paid for his schooling, and it emasculated him, but did he ever refuse the money?”  


“No.”  


“Uh huh,” the smirk widened. “And who picked out this big ass house?”  


“…he did.”  


“ _Oh_ ,” Negan leaned closer so that he was just inches from your face, and the proximity caused your skin to flush. “Interesting. So, there was no whining and complaining there. How about the sporty little Mercedes he drove away in? Did you foist that on him, too?”  


“No.”  


“Fucking imagine that, Doll. Take it from someone who’s used manipulation to get what he wants,” his smile dimmed, and you swallowed heavily. “It’s a lot easier to look at yourself in the mirror when you’re able to shift the blame onto someone else. That’s how that shithead is able to sleep at night, because he’s probably told himself that you drove him to do it so many times that he’s bought into his own bullshit. But deep down, he knows that the only one to blame for his wandering dick is him.”  


The regret in his tone was so thick that it was almost visible to the naked eye, and you hated that your current emotional situation caused him to think so much about his own past. Whatever occurred between him and Lucille, and you knew it was something that he’d never forget or forgive of himself, but you didn’t want it to define him, or your relationship moving forward, and it hit you that he maybe, just maybe, needed you to see your way through this as a possible atonement for himself.   


You’d never see Negan as anything other than what he really was. A great guy that made you feel wanted and needed. More than just a payday or a housekeeper. You didn’t know him as an adulterer or a bad partner, and you didn’t want him to have to spend so much time trying to reassure you of your value. You wanted to do that for him.  


“You’re right,” you murmured softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I know that you’re right, and I’ll do my best to stop letting him get to me.”  


Like he’d done before, his eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into your touch. There was no question that you had to stop looking at what was behind you, and focus on what was literally right in front of you, and you hoped like hell that he did, too.  


“I really missed you,” you added in the same soft voice. “It really sucked not seeing you for so many days.”  


“It sucked for me, too.”  


Lifting your head, you kissed him gently, sucking in your breath when he deepened it, pushing your mouth open to insert his tongue, and you used your other hand to grasp his shoulder to pull him on top of you. He was pliable, swinging his legs up onto the bed and laying himself across your torso, though he broke contact with a twinkle in his eye.  


“Feeling better?”  


“Much.”  


“Good, ‘cause my dick really wants to have that sexy reunion with your p-“  


You clapped your hand over his mouth with a laugh, letting out a squeal when he licked the palm of your hand, and it was only after he tickled your side that you let go.  


“-ussy,” Negan finished like you hadn’t tried to stop him, going in for a nibble at your neck at the same time. As he made a trek across your throat, you reached down, tugging at the towel that was still secured around his waist. With your one free leg, you kicked it off the bed, feeling overheated when he spread the top of the robe, exposing your breasts so that he could have access to them.   


“Negan,” you moaned, arching up into the stubbled mouth that closed around a nipple, sending a jolt straight through you. The warmth of his tongue and the sharp sting of his teeth as he teased the nub was driving you wild, to the point that you scratched up his left ass cheek, grinding yourself up against his stomach. He dug his pelvis into your silk robe covered core, teasing you more and more, to the point that you whimpered in pain.  


“Tell me, honey,” he growled into the hollow of your throat, moving the material completely out of the way. “Tell me what you want.”  


“You know what I want,” you panted, using your heel to dig it into the back of his thigh, trying to get him to move faster. “Please just give it to me.”  


“Nah,” he reared back, wearing that damned infuriating smirk that upped the heat between your legs, and you snarled in anger. The black and white stubble around his mouth crinkled in on itself when he showed his teeth, reaching in between the two of you to undo your belt. With the flick of his wrist, your robe was spread wide, and he dropped his head, peering down to your exposed sex, watching the way your pussy butted up against his hardness. “I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly what you want.”  


When he glanced back up, the smile was gone, replaced by a hunger that sent a full-body shiver through you, and you weren’t sure why he needed permission, but you gave in, because you knew that same hunger and desire was pouring out of every part of you, and you needed him to bring you wherever he wanted to go.  


“I need you, Negan. I need you inside me,” you gently traced the outside of his lips, entranced by everything about him, and he rolled off of you onto his back, the loss of contact like a shock to your system. Turning your head to give him a look of surprise, he toyed with the only material left on your body, rubbing his knuckle up and down your arm.  


“Then take me,” he said in a low voice, laying his head back with half-closed eyes. “Show me how much you missed me.”  


Not needing to be told twice, you sat up, shimmying free and unwinding the towel from your hair, letting the damp strands fall down around your face. If you weren’t so far gone, you’d have maybe tried to comb your fingers through the wild mess, but the temptation of his nude body was too much to resist, and you started at the corner of his jaw, kissing your way down his neck and across his chest, using your hands as a guide. Everywhere your fingertips touched, your tongue followed, and your only regret was that you’d let the knee to your cheek keep you from doing this sooner.  


Negan’s skin was delicious clean, but it was even better when he was sweaty, not that you were about to complain. Down the center of his chest, you peppered kisses across the area, finally moving his rock hard erection off his belly to lap at his treasure trail. When he moaned out your name, you opened wide, swallowing down to the base, letting the saliva drip out of the side of your mouth. As wet as you were, it wasn’t really necessary, but when you finally eased back up, the sight of his cock glistening was as magnificent to you as any other work of art.  


You hovered over the tip, rubbing it against your slit a few times, and it made your insides tighten before you ever eased him inside. Negan was breathing heavily, and he circled his hands around your waist firmly, giving you just the slightest push down. The second you got the head into your channel, you both groaned, him from the hot, tight surrounding him, and you from the girth and the way it stretched you out.   


It was only your third time having sex with Negan, and you experimented with your hips as you began to move up and down, alternating circles and straightforward curls, speeding up your movements as you found just the right tempo to make the ridge of his head hit your g-spot. Once you’d found your footing, you turned your attention to your breasts, stimulating yourself under his watchful eye. Negan remained passive under you, the only clue that he wanted to be doing what you were doing was the occasional twitch of his fingers against your waist, until you felt the inevitable build of your orgasm, and you doubled over to ride out the waves of contractions, not even noticing that he’d begun to rub the pad of his thumb over your clit to speed you along.   


All you could manage was a breathy plea to God as you were swept up in the sheer pleasure that nothing else could possibly match, and you did your best to continue to move your lower half, not even arguing when Negan started to lift you up and down his shaft, thrusting his hips up with a grated moan while your eyes were closed. The aftershocks of your orgasm were still flittering through your walls when he came, and you could hear the air sawing in and out of his lungs with the side of your face pressed against his chest.   


Too blissfully comfortable to move, you felt your entire body go limp with Negan still inside you, and you dozed happily, having found the exact right thing to cure what ailed you.

* * *

“So it’s a costume party?”  


“A theme party,” you said, watching as Negan stabbed the last of his crabcake with the fork, balancing the crumbs on the tip before putting in his mouth. Since he hadn’t thought ahead to bring a change of clothes, he was grudgingly esconsed in the leopard Snuggie, while you were dressed in a nightgown. His work outfit was in the dryer, and you’d teased him about not assuming you’d want him to spend the night.   


After a welcome bout of sex, you’d both taken a little cat nap until you bolted out of a sound sleep, remembering the packages that you’d had sent back from Martha’s Vineyard, and you’d hurried downstairs to get the perishables into the fridges. Negan’s eyes had gone directly to the seafood, so you’d set the crab cakes out along with some fresh berries, and you were sitting at the kitchen island eating as he stood across from you.  


You’d told him before about Lou’s birthday party, but what he’d initially thought was a small get-together was in fact a huge deal. Like you, Louisa was a big believer in giving back to the community, so her parties every year were actually a charity fundraiser, and now, after seven years, the annual soiree was known far and wide throughout the area. The previous one had drawn over a thousand attendees, and it was promoted in partnership with one of the local radio stations.  


“This year it’s Time Warp: Decades. Don’t worry,” you saw his eyes narrow, and you grinned, “you don’t need to dress up.”  


Negan had his school’s sports banquet the following night, but he was going to meet you there when he was done, and you had a funny feeling that he wouldn’t be caught dead in a cheesy costume.  


“What fucking decades are you celebrating?”  


“Seventies, eighties and nineties,” you reached for his plate, carrying it over to the sink as he brought the pan over, setting it down. “I made sure to clarify after last year’s debacle.”,  


“Clarify, why?”  


“Um, there was an incident last year, and I wore the wrong costume.”  


“What was last year’s theme?” Negan pressed himself up against your back as you hand washed the dishes, pinching your butt when you didn’t respond immediately. “Tell me, Doll.”  


“It was Comic Legends, all right?”  


“How the fuck can you screw that up?” he wondered, reaching around you for a towel and drying the plates as you stacked them in the holder. “Did you dress as Wonder Woman and bring a whip instead of the lasso?”  


“I wish,” you sighed, turning off the water when you were done and twisting around to face him, cheeks burning.   


“Then, what? ‘Cause I won’t be able to sleep unless you tell me,” he goaded you, following you to the laundry room and shaking out his pants and shirt, laying them over his forearm after sliding on his boxers. “What did you go as?”  


You waited until you reached the top of the steps before telling him, keeping your face turned as he stopped short.  


“Minnie Pearl.”  


By the time he made it to the bedroom, you were already under the covers, giving him a wary look as he tried not to laugh and failed miserably. “I thought she meant comedians, not comic books.”  


“Holy shit,” he gasped, wiping his eyes after a good long time, and you turned to the side, covering your face with the blanket. “Oh, honey, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever fucking heard.”  


Negan crawled into the bed, forcing the covers off of your head, and you hid your face in your hands, remembering the blank stares that you received when you walked into a warehouse full of X-men and DC superheroes. It had been the hands-down most humiliating event of your life until Amber came along, and you prayed to God no one would bring it up this year.  


“I made Mark go as Gallagher,” you confessed, setting off a fresh wave of giddiness in Negan, and you peeked at him through your fingers. “He was so pissed.”  


“Come here,” Negan pulled you close and turned out the light, letting you lay your head on his chest. “I’m sure you looked adorable.”  


You didn’t answer, and a few minutes later, his chest started to move up and down, and you bit at his skin before telling him to shut up. Still, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

Unlike the previous several nights, there were no nightmares of Mark and Amber plaguing you, and you woke to Negan kissing your cheek. You lifted your head, seeing that it was still dark out, and he gently pressed your head back to the pillow.  


“Don’t get up,” he whispered, adding another kiss to your temple. “I just need to know the code to the alarm so I can get out.”  


“Four-two-eight-one,” you mumbled, burrowing down into the covers, still half-asleep. “Take the key on the counter and bring some stuff with you tonight.”  


If he said anything else, you didn’t hear it, sleeping soundly until well after nine, stumbling downstairs to see that the key was gone and a note from Negan was sitting in its spot, telling you that he’d call you later. It put a smile on your face, and you made yourself some coffee, thinking that nothing could bring you down, which lasted exactly ten minutes, until Mark started pounding on your door, begging you to open up.


	14. The Gambler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeere's a little baby chapter before the party!

You were shaking as you peered through the peephole, phone clutched in your hand as you debated calling Negan. Mark was just inches away from the door, with his hair sticking up all over and sleep tracks across his face. He clearly knew that you were watching him, and he kept saying your name over and over, asking you to please let him in.  


“I have to talk to you,” his voice was hoarse, like he’d been crying, and you could see that his eyes were puffy. Why couldn’t he just leave you the fuck alone to heal? After speeding away from your house yesterday, you thought that he would’ve gotten the hint that you were out of things to say to one another, but you thought wrong.  


Just one fucking day, you wanted to go without having to think about him or have any contact with him, and you lost your shit, turning off the alarm and whipping the door open so fast that it flew out of your hand and bounced against the glass, cracking it straight up the middle. The sound was ear-splitting, and Mark jumped back holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.  


“Can’t you just leave me be?” you screeched, hating him so much that you could punch a hole straight through his chest. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”  


“If you just give me five minutes, I swear on my mom’s life that I’ll sign the papers and never bother you again if you don’t want me to.”  


You paused in your freak out, staring at him in shock. His mother was everything to him, even more than his passion to become a doctor, and the fact that he brought her up sent a flash of guilt through you. Sylvia was a good woman, and she’d welcomed you into the family with open arms. In truth, you hadn’t given his parents much thought, and you wondered if he’d even told them yet that you were breaking up. She would definitely take it hard, and it put a lump in your throat. You didn’t have a relationship with your mom, not a conventional one, anyway, and you slumped next to the doorframe.  


“You have five minutes, and then we’re done,” you said, feeling as tired as if you hadn’t slept for days. Mark nodded faintly, clearing his throat, and you stepped aside so that he could come in. He smelled like that goddamned cologne you hated, and it struck you that you’d never once told him that. You didn’t know why, other than the fact that he liked it, so you’d put up with it. You’d put up with a lot, and you just did not want to do it anymore.  


Mark walked straight to the kitchen, and you closed the door, cursing under your breath at the huge crack in the window. Now you were going to have to call around to see if someone could come to replace it, and clutching your phone, you headed in to hear what Mark had to say so that you could get him out of your house.  


He was leaning over the island, looking at the note Negan left you, and when he glanced up, his eyes were red. You snatched the piece of paper, setting it near the stove along with your phone, and he exhaled deeply through his nose.  


“He spent the night.”  


“That’s none of your business,” you shot back immediately, feeling the heat of indignation rise. “Say what you have to say.”  


“I haven’t slept,” he confessed, brushing imaginary crumbs off of his chest, avoiding your pointed glare. “As soon as I left here yesterday, I felt like shit, babe. I know this is all my fault. I get it.”  


_Hooray, a fucking epiphany,_ you thought sarcastically, all the while clamping down on your lips to keep from retorting, and he began to pace around the island, still not looking at you. He was nervous, and his eye kept twitching, a dead giveaway.  


“I remember the first time I saw you,” he muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself. “You were sitting in the front row in Geary’s natural sciences lab. You were next to that girl that ended up getting pregnant and dropping out, and when I walked in, you looked up and smiled at me.”  


You knew that day well. It was the first class you had together, but you’d seen him around campus before, thinking that he was so nerdishly adorable. He was always at the library or studying in the quad, long before classes had even started, and you ended up not asking him out until the following semester, figuring if he said no, you’d move on from your little crush. But here you were, years later, looking at him like he was a stranger, and you fought back a wave of sadness.  


“What’s your point?”  


“Huh?” Mark looked up, still pacing the kitchen, and he shook his head as if he was clearing his mind, finally coming to a stop near the sink. “I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. So confident and self-assured. You still are, and when you asked me out, I thought it was a joke, at first. Like, that you’d done it as a goof, or that someone put you up to it. Actually, I spent the first three months that we dated waiting for you to tell me it was.”  


He smiled sadly, and you shifted uncomfortably, still not quite sure what he was trying to imply. You knew that he’d been so apprehensive when you first started going out, but once again, you didn’t know that he’d been so suspicious of you, and you wondered if you’d ever really known each other at all. Was it any wonder that you were finished?  


“You were always out of my league, and not because of your money. I think I’ve carried that around with me ever since,” Mark let his head drop, and you heard him sniffle. “But if you take me back, I’ll break up with her. I’ll go to therapy, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We can start over.”  


“Wait, wait, wait,” you laughed, taking a few steps forward, and his head snapped up. “Are you seriously telling me you came here to beg me to take you back, and you haven’t even broken up with her? What is the matter with you?”  


“I haven’t seen her,” Mark came around the island to stand in front of you, and he reached for your hand, but you snatched it away with a sneer. “I spent the night at the hospital. Babe, it’s making me crazy to think about you with that guy, and I realized how bad I made you feel. I feel the exact same way now, and I know you wanted to make me understand just exactly what I put you through.”  


“It’s nowhere near the same, you son of a bitch. First of all, I didn’t do anything until after I served you with divorce papers,” Mark’s mouth dropped as you got in his face. “You were sleeping around for months. You would lay next to me and wish it was her, remember?”  


He shook his head back and forth in a refusal to believe that you didn’t both suffer the same, and you slapped your hand on the marble to get his attention, almost relishing the sting in your palm. He still didn’t get it, and he never would, so you dropped the last of the knowledge you ever would on him.  


“Secondly, I didn’t get involved with Negan to get back at you. I’m seeing him because I like him, and I’m going to be brutally honest here, Mark. Maybe I should be thanking you, because meeting him was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. He’s amazing, and I can’t wait to see where it goes with him.”  


“You can’t possibly mean that,” he gasped, and your eyebrows rose. “He’s just a gym teacher. He’s-“  


“You are such a fucking _snob_. How can you even say anything like that? You know what? I’m done. I gave you more than five minutes,” you started for the door, opening it wide as he trailed behind you, still trying to plead his case, but you were over him. For good. “I’m going to have to decline your offer to come back. I have no interest in ever revisiting our relationship ever again. Frankly, even if Negan wasn’t in the picture, I wouldn’t be able to move past this.”  


“Babe, I…”  


“Goodbye, Mark.”  


He stared at you for the longest time, and it was almost like he was memorizing this moment, or possibly just the way you were looking at him, and with an imperceptible nod, he walked out the door and to his car. As soon as you heard the door slam, you retreated to the house, locking the front entrance and resetting the alarm.  
  


* * *

“I am sooo proud of you that I could spit. This is the best birthday gift ever!”  


Lou was dancing around the table that you were currently splayed out on, not giving a damn that the masseuse was trying in vain to remove the knots from your shoulders, and you chuckled under your breath at her theatrics.   


After taking a bit to compose yourself, you’d called the closest Home Depot to see if they could send someone out to replace the glass that you’d shattered in rage, and they were sending someone the following day. Then you’d notified the alarm company to change the code, and got a locksmith set up for Saturday as well.   


All in all, it was an eventful morning, and when Lou called to tell you to get your ass over to her spa for some pampering for the upcoming party, you were all too happy to go. With a quick shower and a bare face, you arrived just after noon, being whisked to the back under her watchful eye to get a full range of treatments. Waxing, body polish, a massage, and then you were set to get a mani/pedi and a full hair and makeup application.  


She’d hesitantly asked how things were progressing with the divorce, and you were honest, telling her about coming home the previous day to find Negan and Mark at your house. For once, she kept her mouth shut as you relayed the highly charged experience, and when you told her about him showing up this morning again, she actually covered her mouth to keep from interrupting until you got to the part where you told Mark that things were never going to work out with the two of you, because you cared about Negan.  


“Is he coming tonight, your little mystery man?”  


“I’m going to call and tell him not to if you ever call him my mystery man ever again,” you opened one eye, and Lou stuck her tongue out at you, disappearing out the door to leave you to finish your massage. By the time that Fern was done, you felt like a mostly new woman, and you headed to the shower to clean yourself up for your next beauty regimen, but as you stepped out into the hall, you were sent to Lou’s office by the hairdresser.  


Knocking, you waited for her to let you in, and she studied you critically before allowing you to enter.   


“So, don’t be mad, but I made an executive decision for you for tonight.”  


“What?”  


“You’re not wearing that ugly ass pair of bell-bottoms as your costume. In fact,” she dragged you over to a clothing rack, waving her arm with a flourish, “you and I are wearing three different outfits. One for each decade.”  


“Where did you get all this?”   


You browsed through the rack of vintage clothes, spanning all three decades, you guessed, surprised to see that they were all in your size. Lou must’ve found them specifically for you, and she held up one of the dresses, laying it against your chest before shaking her head and hanging it back up.  


“Pepper owns that high-end consignment store, remember? I’ve had her looking for stuff for weeks.”  


“But, why?”  


“Because,” she said with an eye roll tossed in, inferring that you were being dense, “you paid for everything this year, and you’re gonna be front and center for this whole thing. I want you to look and feel amazing. It’s the biggest party we’ve ever had. Over twelve hundred tickets were sold, and that doesn’t even include door sales.”  


“Yeah, but you know it’s a tax write off, and…”  


Lou wasn’t swayed, and she went into mother hen mode, taking your wrist and pulling you towards the couch that sat on the other side of her office. She perched next to you, and you sensed a rare moment of gentle honesty coming. Louisa was straightforward, to the point of brutality, and you loved that about her. People knew where they stood in her life, and more than once she’d set you back on the straight and narrow with her tough love. So, to see her face soften was odd, and you turned to face her.  


“You’re my best friend,” she began, fiddling with the sleeve of your robe, plucking off a piece of fuzz, “and I’ve watched you sort of fade away over the last few years.”  


Oh, shit, she was going deep, and you felt your stomach start to churn in a nervous sort of foreboding. She’d never once in the last few years said anything if she noticed a change, but possibly now that you were on the precipice of starting over, she felt she could.  


“Everything in your life just kind of took a backseat to Mark’s schooling, his pursuit of the perfect job, and you just seemed like the shell of the woman that I knew you as. I mean, I get it on some level that you took a step back to support him, but as time went on, you just kind of retreated into yourself. The girl that used to be able to drink me under the table was in bed by herself every night by ten. I mean, do you remember when we took that two weeks to follow Rob Zombie on tour around the country?”  


“Yeah,” your heart was in your throat, and you felt your eyes watering as you thought about all of the fun, stupid shit you used to do. Some of it was probably ill-advised, but you got her point. The old you wanted to live, at least partially outside of Mark’s shadow. “We sure had fun, didn’t we?”  


“We did,” Lou was firm in her agreement, and she sighed loudly. “You’ve always been the bravest person I know, and I feel like I’m starting to see traces of that girl here and there over the last couple of weeks. You’ve been through a shit ton of heartache, and I know that anyone’s natural response would be to kinda hide out and lick their wounds, but I have to say, when you talk about this new guy? I see… _you_ again, Hon. I see that girl that has so much to fucking offer the world. That deserves to have a smashing good time, and why not start with tonight?”  


“I’m sorry,” you whispered, bursting into tears as you covered your face. It was a breakdown a long time in the making. Long before Amber came along, and you doubled over into Lou’s embrace, crying for the time wasted. Not just with Mark, but with yourself, never getting out there and enjoying what the world had to offer.   


“It’s never too late,” Lou hummed into your ear, rocking you back and forth. “So, let’s just start with tonight, okay? Let me dress you like the beautiful soul that you are, and maybe you dance your ass off and have a great fucking time with the mystery man.”  


You laughed and sniffled at the same time, looking up with a smile, and she wiped the wetness off your cheeks. After a little shudder, you sat up, pulling yourself together, and rising to go look at the clothes, marveling at what an amazing friend you had that would go to all this trouble just to try to get through to you.   


“You’re the best,” you said after the two of you had finally come up with three outfits, and with a pinch to your cheek, she sent you off to get ready. Cinderella was finally going to the ball, and this time, she was leaving with the prince _and_ the glass slippers. 


	15. Dancin' Queen

“Stop fidgeting. You look great.”  


Lou ignored the dirty look you sent her way, too busy hanging up your remaining outfits and setting her makeup case on the counter. You couldn’t help it as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, fussing with the backless halter top that you were wearing. You hadn’t dressed this provocatively since college, and your insecurities were at a fever pitch.   


Your best friend had done a bang-up job finding outfits for you, and the purple, shiny disco pants hugged you like a second skin. Your hair was as wild as Farrah Fawcett’s, and with the snake cuff that circled your upper arm, you definitely looked the part of a Studio 54 hanger-on. Lou was slightly more covered up than you, sporting a teal, sleeveless bodysuit that had a deep v that reminded you too much of the dress that Amber had worn on the night you met her, though you tried to forget it. Her curly hair was teased within an inch of its life, and the both of you were made up with shiny shadow and glossy lips.  


“I feel…exposed,” you muttered, checking the edges of your shirt to make sure your boobs weren’t going to migrate to the sides, but they’d been secured with tape, since you weren’t able to wear a bra, and you gave up, waiting for Louisa to finish so that you could join the throngs of people that had already arrived, ready to let loose.  


The former Goodwill warehouse had been the home of the last two parties, and it was the perfect size and layout for a large group of people. The main floor connected to a loading dock with large garage doors and a cavernous storage area. On the second floor, clothes and furniture had been brought up for sorting and repair, so there was an open floor with a wall of glass-enclosed offices, which had been repurposed to bars and a deejay area, and the roof looked out over the river.   


Two years prior, you’d funded the reconstruction of the building, as it had been leased at cost, and when it wasn’t in use for the fundraisers, you’d allowed it to be occupied by the greater Alexandria girl scouts troops. The place was normally used for their cookie sales at the beginning of the year, and you’d been a frequent contributor to that particular drive, much to the chagrin of your hips and ass.   


Mark, of course, had been annoyed that you had spent some of your money leasing a building that served so little purpose, as he’d seen it, but you were happy that people were getting use out of it, and it brought a smile to your face as you made your way out to the party with Lou, passing posters of happy little girls that lined the walls.  


“You ready to have fun, girlie?” Lou took your hand as you walked down the back hall towards the sounds of music and laughter, and you nodded. Your phone was stowed in the tiny purse that you’d opted to bring, and you felt a nervous flutter in your stomach as you made your way to the seventies.  


Each floor was themed, and you were of course starting out on the main level. Since you’d come in through the dock entrance, you hadn’t seen the whole setup, and you let out a gasp when you were able to take in just how much prep Lou had done for this year’s theme.  


The middle of the room had been given a light-up dance floor that looked like it had been stolen from the Saturday Night Fever set. Along the outer edges of the warehouse, someone had placed bean bag chairs, wicker fan seats, and a variety of sofas and couches in a plethora of ugly seventies styles. Rust and gold, avocado, and even a puce color. Hideously beautiful, you supposed, and Lou guided you through a group of guys that were dressed like the Ramones to the bar.   


All of the bartenders were clad in white, wide-collared shirts and matching bell-bottoms, and you giggled under your breath. It was all so surreal, and you ordered a beer to start, knowing that the night was going to be long and full of drinks. Lou got a rum and Coke, and you observed as the room began to fill up. Attendees were taking the costumes to heart, and you people watched for a while, greeting a few men and women that you knew in passing.  


One of the most popular local deejays, Miles Fox, was working this level, and you bobbed your head when he played some Queen, until Lou let out a squeak, taking off and jumping into Bob’s arms while you grinned stupidly. She’d told him how she felt, and he was obviously into her, judging by the way he kissed her. Lou’s legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried her back to where you were standing, setting her down but holding her close, and you shook his hand when he offered it.  


“Hey, Bob,” you greeted him warmly, and he kissed the top of your hand like a gentleman.   


“How’s the floor, groovy lady?”  


“It looks far out,” you teased, unsure if you were using the right lingo, but he laughed, anyway. Bob was dressed in a pair of faded, tight jeans, a thick brown belt, and an unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt, showcasing his very nice chest. He’d added a golden-brown, shoulder-length wig, and you nodded appreciatively at the homage to Robert Plant as Lou stared up at him with googly eyes. Oh, you were so going to tease her later.  


More people began to crowd around for drinks as the three of you chatted, so you made your way over to one of the couches, plopping down for an early rest. Lou sat on Bob’s lap, and you checked your phone while they kissed, simultaneously grossed out and touched that she was being so schmoopy. It wasn’t normally Lou’s style, but you knew how nuts she was about Bob, so you tried your best to ignore the display.  


Negan. You couldn’t wait for him to get there. He was at the sports banquet for his school, but when you’d last checked in on him, he’d texted you that he would be there by ten. When you saw that it was after nine, you got a tiny smile on your face and sent him a little wave emoji. He texted back that he couldn’t wait to see what sort of sexy outfit you were wearing, so you took a discreet pic of your cleavage, looking up when Lou snorted loud enough to be heard over the music.   


You were caught red-handed, and you quickly sent it, starting to put your phone back in your purse as your cheeks turned pink. But it buzzed in your hand, and you went into a full-on body flush when you read his text.  


**‘I’m gonna fuck your brains out tonight.’**

“What did he say?” Lou smirked, and Bob gazed at you. You told her to mind her own business, excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to get your bearings. Negan was crass and vulgar, but he said what he meant and he meant what he said. So, you knew that you were in for a wild ride after the party was over, and you smiled at your reflection as you washed your hands. He was unlike any man you’d ever met, and a part of you felt like you were regressing, becoming an innocent teenage girl that was transfixed on the resident bad boy.  


On the other hand, he was also sweet, tender, and possessing a hidden romantic side, and the contrast made for an irresistible combination. You just couldn’t get enough of him, and when you made your way back to the couch with a fresh beer, you hummed along with the Commodores, barely noticing the male gazes that were following you as you moved.  


Too distracted by what lay ahead, you didn’t notice that there were more people sitting on the couch until you were almost there, and you came to a dead stop as one of them screeched your name.   


“There you are!”  


You rocked backward when you were slammed into, your beer sloshing over your arm, and you shot Lou a death look as she mouthed an apology. Of all the people you didn’t want to run into tonight, Nikki was at the top of the list, right underneath Mark and Amber, and you halfheartedly hugged her back.  


“Oh, honey,” she cooed, stepping back and grasping your elbows so that you couldn’t run. “I heard about you and Mark, and I was just floored. I mean, _cheating_ on you? I can’t believe it.”  


“Mmmhmmm,” you demurred, fixing a polite smile on your face as she shook her head with faux sympathy. She couldn’t hide the sparkle in her eyes, and your fingers tightened around the bottle. “How did you find out?”  


“Oh, it’s all anyone can talk about,” she laughed. “All our old school chums were just in a tizzy over it. Do you need anything? What can I do to help?”  


“I’m fine, really. It’s all for the best.”  


Nikki looked you up and down, her mouth turning into a cruel smile, and your chest started to get heated. “Well, at least you got the theme right this year. Small victories, eh?”  


“Yeah,” you nodded, speaking with sickening sweetness to your former friend and longtime frenemy. “How come you didn’t?”  


“What do you mean?” she turned in a circle, making sure that everyone got a good look. “I’m Sandy from Grease.”  


Indeed she was, from the painted-on leather pants and off the shoulder shirt to the red Candies that showed her painted toes. Her hair was fluffed and curled, and she cocked her head.  


“That took place in the fifties.”  


“But it was made in the seventies, silly,” she rolled her eyes, glancing back to give one of the guys on the couch a little wink. Why was she such a bitch? You used to be great friends. In fact, the rest of your old crew had dubbed Nikki, Lou, and you the Three Musketeers. Where you were, they were, and vice versa. The first three years of college, you were inseparable, and then out of nowhere, Nikki started to pull away from you. Not Lou, because they were cousins, just you. She got distant. She got passive-aggressive, and though you’d tried to sit down several times to find out why, she’d acted like there was nothing wrong, so you gave up.   


It didn’t stop her from seeking you out whenever you were in the same place, but she’d never had this much ammunition before to get under your skin. It annoyed you that you let it bother you so much, and you took a step back, setting your beer on one of the tables, wiping the suds from your arm.  


“Anyway,” you shrugged, “it’s been nice catching up, Nicole, but I think I’m gonna hit the dancefloor.”  


“What a great idea,” she nodded, reaching for Lou’s hand and pulling her upright. “We should totally get out there. I mean, you can’t meet someone new just standing around feeling sorry for yourself, right?”  


“Christ, Nikki, lay off,” Lou shoved her forward, and you stalked behind them, poking your best friend in the back.   


“You know you’re dead,” you hissed, and she slowed down, putting her arm around you. If it was anyone else, Lou would’ve kicked their asses, but when it came to Nikki, she had a weak spot. Nikki’s parents were shitheads, and she’d spent a lot of time at Lou’s house to escape their verbal and physical fights, but it didn’t change the fact that she was so toxic when it came to you.   


“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming tonight. She never mentioned it.”  


Whatever. You weren’t going to let her ruin your night. There was too much fun to be had, and you felt a shiver run through you, thinking about Negan’s text. He would be arriving soon, and you shook off Nikki’s attempt to undermine you, weaving your way to the middle of the floor. Nikki, with her long, thin figure and self-confident stature, was already swaying to the BeeGees song, and several people were looking on in interest.   


Disco wasn’t really Lou’s favorite genre, but she did her best, moving more like a rusty Tin Man than a woman with any sort of rhythm, and you laughed out loud when she bumped into a short guy in a pair of roller skates, sending him flailing a few feet away.  


“Sorry,” she called after him, grimacing, and Nikki caught your eye, giving you a genuine smile. For a few songs, it felt like old times, when the three of you would hit the campus bars while Mark studied, or even before you started dating him. You guys would spend the night dancing, drinking, and having a ball. None of you worried about who was being hit on, or if other girls were better looking. You just had fun, and as Thelma Houston began to play, you and Nikki both squealed at the same time, causing a few startled looks.  


“Remember Tony’s party?” she shouted, taking your hands and shaking them back and forth. “When your tube top fell down and your boobs popped out?”  


“Oh my God,” you’d totally blocked it from your mind, and the memory came rushing back, hitting you with residual humiliation. Spinning around during the crescendo of the song, you were oblivious to the fact that your top had fallen down to your stomach, so tipsy that you’d thought the whoops and cheers you were hearing were due to your sweet, sweet moves. By the time the song had finished, you’d given everyone at the party a minutes long peep show, and for weeks, half of the school had dubbed you ‘Gypsy Rose’. “That was so fucking embarrassing.”  


“Well, it got your name on a ton of bathroom walls,” she snorted, and you felt your face get red. “Oh, loosen up,” Nikki laughed, and you rolled your eyes, moving your hips while discreetly checking your top.   


You definitely needed another drink, but you stayed out on the floor, breaking out into a laugh when Lou started to do the bump, hitting your hip with her own, and you devolved into goofy moves as the song blared on. When it faded out, you were out of breath, but before you could tell them that you were going to take a break, Nikki leaned in with a glint in her eye.  


“Oh, shit, I just spotted my next great love. I’ll be back.”  


Leaving you and Lou in the middle of the floor, you watched her weave her way through the mass of bodies, her ass swaying back and forth as she headed towards the front of the party, and you followed behind to see what poor sucker was caught in her crosshairs.   


“Son of a bitch,” you moved a drunk Elton John out of the way, seeing red as she walked right up to Negan, who was scanning the crowd. For a split second, you were deathly afraid that he was going to…you didn’t know what. Flirt with her? Buy her a drink? Fall in love with her?   


Ducking behind a guy in a red silk shirt and polyester pants, you held your breath as Nikki planted herself right in front of him, placing her hand on his chest to get his attention. God, he was so stunningly handsome. Only able to see his top half, you licked your lips nervously when he looked down at her, watching for any signs that he was into whatever bullshit she was spewing. The plain white t-shirt he was wearing was creased under Nikki’s blood-red nails, and he leaned in to hear her better.   


His face spread into a smile, and he murmured a few words, shaking his head and gesturing with his forearms. Whatever he said made her take her hand off of his chest, and her shoulders drew back before she jerked her thumb in your general direction, stalking off.  


As he turned his face towards you, you hid behind the silk shirt guy, slinking back towards Lou, who was still dancing, now with Bob. God bless him, he had next to no moves, and you smoothed your hair before joining them.   


“Who’s the guy she’s looking to chew up and spit out?”  


“Negan,” you grinned, and Lou doubled over laughing as Bob looked between the two of you in confusion.   


“Whatever progress you two just made is gone,” she chuckled, giving Bob a knowing look as her eyes moved beyond you. “Whoa, is that him?”  


When you were brave enough to turn back around, you felt your heartbeat in your throat. Negan was about ten feet away, and when he locked gazes with you, it was like stepping into a hole that you didn’t know was there. You were dizzy and short of breath for a second, and you took a few tentative steps towards him, meeting him halfway. He was wearing a tight-fitting pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and an expression that could melt an iceberg, it was so hot.   


“Look at you,” he purred, brushing his lips to yours, and you were thankful that the music was loud enough to drown out the whimper that pushed up your throat and out of your mouth. “I am so going to _destroy_ your body tonight.”  


The image just about gave you a spontaneous orgasm, and you felt goosebumps blossom across your skin. He noticed right away, asking if you were cold, and you shook your head, which prompted a wicked smile. “Naughty girl,” Negan inched closer, making sure that you were looking him dead in the eye. “I spent the last hour rock hard after you sent me the titty picture that I so desperately wanted.”  


“How was the banquet?” you tried to change the subject, acutely aware of the wetness that was threatening to stain your panties. It was still early, and you could feel Lou hovering behind you, waiting for an introduction.   


“Same old, same old,” he eased back a bit, placing his hand on your back at the same time. “I got ‘Coach of the Year’.”  


He said it like it was no big deal, but your eyes lit up, and you flashed a happy smile. “What? That’s amazing. Congratulations.”  


Negan shrugged, giving you a doubtful look, but you reached up, cupping his cheek playfully. “I’m about fifty percent more into you now. Just sayin’.”  


“You’re so fucking weird.”  


“Seriously, that’s awesome,” you told him, and his eyes softened.   


“I got it last year, too, but no one seemed to give a shit.”  


“Well, I do. You should be proud,” raising onto your tiptoes, you kissed him, holding your mouth to his for a few seconds. _Fucking piece of shit bitch Amber._ “You told me you want to make a difference in your students' lives, and you do. You’re wonderful.”  


“Thank you, Doll.”  


“Lou’s standing behind me, waiting to meet you,” you sighed, taking his hand, and when you walked towards her, the grin on her face was enough to earn a warning look from you. She’d better not embarrass you.  


“Negan, this is my best friend Lou,” you introduced him, and he leaned in to give her a respectable kiss on the cheek, ever the charmer. “Lou this is Negan.”  


“Nice to meet you,” she was nearly giddy, looking him up and down, nodding in approval. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  


“You, too, sweetheart,” he turned on the charm, and you gestured to Bob.   


“This is Bob. He’s Lou’s…he’s the one who put in the floor at my house.”  


Negan gave him a firm handshake turning his attention to the other man. “Damned fine work, man. That stone is pristine.”  


Bob’s face relaxed, and the two started to chat about their mutual experience in construction and home improvement, and you tried to ignore Lou’s pointed stare in your direction. Finally, you touched Negan on the arm, asking him if he wanted a drink, and he started to take out his wallet, but you stopped him. “They’re all included in the ticket.”  


“I’ll take a draft, then, Dollface.”  


He went right back to shooting the shit with Bob, and you and Lou started for the bar. You weren’t more than a few steps away when she clawed her fingers into your arm, fanning herself. “Girl,” she snorted, “he’s so damned fine that I’m like an overheated engine over here.”  


“Jesus, please don’t embarrass me,” you begged when you were in line. “This is really new, and who knows what’ll end up happening.”  


“I’m not going to embarrass you,” she was slightly offended before turning serious. “That guy is nuts about you.”  


“Why do you say that?”  


“Because I can tell. It was written all over his face,” she said, leaning against the bar. “It’s okay to like him, honey, and just because it’s fast, doesn’t mean it’s wrong or it’s gonna burn out quickly.”  


You cared about him so much already, and she could tell her words had an effect on you, and she pulled you in for a hug. “Go with it, okay? And fuck what anyone else thinks. Sometimes things were just meant to be.”  


Choking back a sigh or a sob, you hugged her back, and she patted your behind, giving you a loving look. “Now let’s get our guys their damned beers like the nice girls we are and go change for the eighties.”  


You were ready to move on, in more ways than one, and carrying the beer, you walked towards the future with a racing heart and a raging libido.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the party coming up!


	16. Wham Bam

Hiking up your skirt, you climbed the steps behind Lou to the second floor to start your immersion in the eighties. Negan had already gone ahead of you with Bob, and they appeared to be getting along like a house on fire. Unlike Mark, who tended to be more reserved, Negan seemed comfortable in just about any situation, and you loved the fact that he was able to jump in with your friends like they were his.   


Halfway up, you reached a standstill, and you lowered the tight, knit skirt back into position, the balls of your feet already beginning to ache. Lou had found you a pair of pointy, black stilettos, and you could feel them slowly strangling your toes. Feeling the heat of someone’s breath on the back of your neck, you inched forward into Lou’s back until the crowd started moving again, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you reached the top. Petulantly, you thought that since you’d bankrolled this damned thing, it should at least afford you a separate entrance, but you promptly forgot about the minor inconvenience when you were able to take a good look around.  


The walls were covered in a chalky black paint, and neon, glow in the dark symbols, and graffiti were added on top of it, giving the area a disjointed, TRON type of feel. In the far left corner, a group of men and women were breakdancing, spinning, and grooving across a shiny bright yellow floor. Moving through the crowd were people dressed in Adidas tracksuits, and you stepped to the side as a group tried to get past you.  


“There they are.”  


Lou pointed to the row of couches, simple black ones that lined an entire wall facing the bars, and you trotted behind her, noticing right away that Nikki was standing just a few feet away from Negan, still sniffing around him. However, you had the pleasure of seeing her face morph into pure envy when she noticed your approach, and her jaw set in an unattractive way when she saw that you’d changed.  


Negan’s reaction was much different. Starting at your feet, he dragged his eyes up your legs, over your bare stomach, your chest, which was clad in a black bra and a see-through lace top, all the way to your face, and you almost came to a halt. The expression on his features made you wonder if he was angry, it was so harsh, but as you began to second-guess your ensemble, a seductively sadistic smile formed, sending a wave of hot anticipation across your skin.   


“I _know_ you know what I’m thinking,” he muttered into your ear when you sat down, and you bit back a squeak when you realized that you’d sat on his hand and his fingers curled up between your thighs, pressing firmly.  


“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you bluffed, but your arm fluttering to your chest gave you away, and he started moving his fingers a little quicker, edging them closer to your opening. Thank the Lord that there were a skirt and leggings providing a barrier between his attempts to torture you and your sex because if you actually had direct contact, you’d orgasm right here and now. The stinging dryness of your throat was proportional to the wetness he’d brought on, and you squirmed when he laughed.  


“You know who tells lies, my little doll?” he brushed his lips against your earlobe, and you stared straight ahead, not seeing anything. “Hmm?”  


“No.”  


“Bad girls lie,” he let the tip of his tongue dart out, using his face to block your friends from seeing, and you fought the urge to cry. Why was he doing this?   


“Bad girls also get taught a lesson for lying, so it looks like you’ll be getting a punishment when I take you home.”  


As quickly as it started, it was over, and he pulled his hand free, getting to his feet. You blinked up at him, so out of sorts that it felt like you’d been drugged, and he asked everyone what they wanted to drink, sauntering over to the bar without a care in the world. In the basest part of your brain, some lizard-like, primitive longing was trying to force its way to your consciousness, to make you get off of the couch and follow him. To force him into a dark corner to scratch and mark and claw him. To fuck him so hard that you’d rip each other to shreds, and it shook you to your core.   


You weren’t that type of person. Never had been before, but with Negan…all you wanted to do was make him yours. Make everyone know that he belonged to you. Amber, Nikki, even Mark. He’d fundamentally altered something in your DNA, changed who you were from the inside out, and you felt Lou watching you, so you tried to stuff that feeling down, to resume some shred of decorum.  


“You all good over there?”  


Nodding resolutely, you smiled at her and Bob, pointlessly wiping our hands across the front of your skirt. Nikki was staring between you and Negan, whose back was towards you, and you raised your eyebrow in a challenge. Sensing that you were feeling possessive, she gave you a snarky smile before tottering off to annoy someone else.   


  


“Shit, he’s so terrible,” you listened to Negan with one ear, trying to pay attention to your friend Hannah at the same time as she told you about her baby learning to walk, but you were struggling since you’d downed two more beers in rapid succession. “Edison’s team hasn’t had a winning season in four years. I think he’s retiring after this season, though.”  


“You should put your hat in the ring, man. You were a star in high school.”  


Glancing over, you saw that it was Bob’s friend Christian who’d made the suggestion. Apparently, he’d gone to the same school that Negan had, and had been fangirling over him since he’d joined your group. Negan had told you before that he’d played baseball in high school and college, but he’d never mentioned that he was good. Damned good, according to Christian, and you stole a quick look up at your honey to see him smiling.  


“I don’t know,” he said. “Just because I played doesn’t mean it would translate into coaching.”  


“Um, you’re coach of the year,” you reminded him, and he gave your knee a squeeze. “If anyone can turn it around for the players, it’d be you. It doesn’t count, but you’ve got my vote.”  


“We’ll see,” he winked at you, but it seemed like he was blowing you off, and you turned back to Hannah, who was waiting patiently to finish her story.   


You being you, a flicker of unease started to grow in your chest, and you regretted opening your mouth for some reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe he could do it, because you did, and the most you could gather was that you felt like you’d inserted yourself into something that he hadn’t asked your opinion on. He’d been bullshitting with the guys, not you, and you excused yourself, lifting up his hand to stand up.   


The bar was relatively open, so you headed that way, asking for a whiskey sour, taking a long draw from it as you tapped your foot in time to Thriller, watching halfheartedly as Lou and Nikki danced. Drinking brought out some funny responses in you, and you continued to try to push your way from reflective to happily tipsy, jumping in your spot when you felt skin brush the back of your neck.  


“Do I need to slip some Prozac into your drink?”  


“Huh?”  


“That big fucking brain of yours is going into overdrive, and I want you to relax and have fun,” Negan leaned his side against the bar, fixing you with a stern expression. “What the fuck got into your head just now?”  


“Nothing. I just…I shouldn’t have interrupted. You didn’t ask my opinion, that’s all.”  


Putting the whiskey to your lips, you took a small drag before he took it out of your hands, setting on the wooden bar top, and he tilted your chin up.  


“The only person’s opinion that I give a monkey’s fuck about here is yours,” he told you. “And if I didn’t want to hear it, I would’ve told you. Right?”  


“I guess so.”  


“You guess so?” both of his eyebrows rose, and you flushed a little, feeling a minor head rush from the drink. “Haven’t I been brutally fucking honest with you so far?”  


“Yes,” you admitted, thinking back to that moment in the bar when he’d decimated you, unintentionally. “You’re pretty damned brutal.”  


Surprisingly, he didn’t take offense to it. He just nodded in agreement, and you nervously downed the rest of the alcohol.   


“Take it easy, sweetheart. Enjoy yourself but don’t get shitfaced, or else you won’t be able to consent to everything I plan to do to you later.”  


“Well, what exactly does that entail?”  


“That’s for me to fantasize about and you to find out,” he growled, staring at your chest.  


_Oh, holy hell._  


“Dance with me, lover,” he snagged your wrist, guiding you towards the dance floor as a slow song started to play, and you sighed happily, snuggling into his hold between other couples. If Mark would’ve ever called you lover, you probably would’ve laughed in his face. Anyone else saying it would sound cheesy and trite, but Negan wasn’t anyone else. Him saying it made you feel desired. Adored, and you basked in the attention he was giving you.  


“You look gorgeous, by the way,” he said over the strains of the music, and you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, fighting the urge to make out with him like a high schooler at the prom. “You always do.”  


“Thank you. I’m glad you’re here with me, Negan.”  


It came out shier than you intended, and he bent his head to rest his cheek on yours as you soaked in the mundane, romantic moment so soon in your relationship. Take my breath away, indeed.  


* * *

Nikki pawed through Lou’s makeup bag, selecting two different lipsticks, and she studied them both before tossing one back and palming the tube of ruby red in her hand. Blocking your view, she leaned into the mirror, slowly and carefully running the color over her lips, and she caught your eye, trying not to smirk.   


Her presence for the final outfit change was payback for not including her in your plans, apparently, and you cursed Lou out in your head. You hadn’t had anything to do with the itinerary for the party, but you were the one that was clearly being blamed, and you turned away, tucking your own lip gloss into the tight pocket of your jean shorts.  


Your current ensemble was the closest to anything you’d worn in the past, except for the bright blue wig that was now covering your slightly sweaty scalp, and you sighed in relief as you put on a comfortable pair of boots. Negan was waiting on the roof for you with the other guys, and you wanted to get up there because every second spent up top was another closer to leaving. He’d been spending a lot of time with Bob and Christian while you danced and drank with Lou, and unfortunately, Nikki.   


After your slow dance with Negan, she’d been on you like a fly on shit, trying to suss out how you met him, along with a few jabs about your divorce. All you’d say was that you weren’t ready to talk about it, and Nikki kept picking at you until you finally got in her face and told her to drop it.   


When she’d skulked off to pout, Lou had given you a big smile and told you that she was proud of you. God knows you weren’t a shrinking violet, but in your quest to keep the peace where Nikki was concerned, you’d let a lot of things slide. But your relationship with Negan wasn’t up for discussion or ridicule, not from her.   


“All right, Musketeers. Are we ready to finish this up in style?”  


Nikki let out a howl when Lou emerged from the bathroom, and you busted out laughing, too. She was dressed like Urkel, and she shoved the huge pair of glasses up on her nose, feigning offense. From her too-small jeans to the ugly striped shirt and suspenders, her attention to detail amazed you.  


“Good luck getting’ any tonight,” you wheezed, dodging her outstretched arms, and Nikki pulled the stick out of her ass long enough to high five you. By the time you got to the roof, you were out of breath, your stomach hurt from laughing, and you leaned up against the wall to get your bearings as you took in the piece de resistance.   


The nineties were a helluva way to end the night because Lou had the roof made up to look like the biggest tourist attractions in Seattle. A twenty-foot tall version of the space needle was bolted to the center for the roof, lit up in red, and groups of people were dancing under and around it, taking pictures.   


Just to the right and left of the doors were bars with Pike Place Market over each, manned by guys in flannel shirts and long hair, one of whom was a dead ringer for Chris Cornell. Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam posters were stuck to the floor, along with flyers for old shows during the grunge scene at Seattle bars.   


“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Lou pushed the glasses up again as she fretted at the stunned look on your face, thinking that she’d gone overboard with the money, and you pulled her into a hug.   


“This is unbelievable,” you told her. “ _You’re_ unbelievable, and this was worth every penny.”  


“Thank you,” she pulled you back, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for being a part of this.”  


She seemed like she wanted to say more, but she clamped her mouth shut, accepting a hug from Nikki instead, and she motioned for you to go find Negan.  


Locating him was as easy as a shark finding a drop of blood in the ocean, and you crept up behind him, where he was standing along the raised platform, his black hair shining from the strobe lights above the stage.   


His ass was within grabbing distance, and you reached out, cupping his right cheek, pinching it. “The fuck?” Negan jumped about a mile high, turning with a deathly look at first, and you took a step back in surprise until he froze like a deer in headlights.   


If his reaction to your previous costumes was appreciative, this one was downright scary. The predatory growl that you heard over the music was ominous, and the way his chest puffed out sent you back one more step until he closed his fingers around your wrist, seeming to forget anyone else was around.  


_I wanna fuck you like an animal._  


Nine Inch Nails was pounding through the speakers, locking your feet to the floor. The thumping electric drums shook your bones as your mouth went dry, and he stared down at your fishnet stockings like he wanted to razor them off.   


“You okay?” you squeaked out, but he didn’t answer, raising his eyes to your bare midriff, and finally the cutoff shirt. His trance-like demeanor only fractured when Bob popped up from his right side, grinning like a goof.  


“Citizen Dick? Classic reference.”  


For just a second, Negan looked angry at the interruption, shaking his head like he was clearing out cobwebs, and then he let go of your arm, sucking down his beer in just a few gulps. If Bob noticed anything odd, he didn’t mention it, and you smiled nervously.  


“Thank you.”  


“Where’s my girl?”  


“Uh, she was by the door with Nikki.”  


Bob loped off, leaving you alone with Negan, and you looked up at him through your lashes, finding a regretful air had replaced the anger, or whatever it was. He turned back to the stage, seemingly collecting himself before placing his arm around your waist and guiding you over to the bar. Signaling the closest bartender with one finger, he got you a whiskey sour, handing it over without a word, giving you a little push towards a free spot in the corner, away from everyone else.   


“I didn’t mean to freak you out, sweetness,” he ducked his head near your ear, moving the hair aside so that you could hear him over the rap song that was playing. “You just look so fucking hot that I literally was ready to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the middle of this crowd.”  


“All over an outfit?”  


“You just don’t get it,” he used the small of your back to pull you closer, and you dug your fingers into the collar of his shirt to steady yourself. “I’ve been thinking about you all goddamned day, and you’ve hit me with gorgeous, stunning, and out of the fucking stratosphere sexy in the last few hours, and I swear to fucking Christ, I’m feeling like I’m losing my mind. Everything about you...”  


“Are you all mine for the weekend?”  


It came out without your permission, but you gave him a pleading look. You needed as much time with him as he could give, and he bent you back, whispering into your lips, turning the moment into one that took your literal breath away.  


“I’m yours for as long as you want.”  


You almost dropped your drink when he kissed you, and the music, the voices of the crowd, even the lights faded. Negan was a shaman, a magician that could control time and space, spiriting you away to a place where he was _everything_. The _only_ thing. Oxygen, life essence. It all came from him, and you melted into his body, soaking up the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his heartbeat near yours.   


The whole of the night, hell, the entire last two weeks had given you whiplash, and you felt yourself almost tear up when he broke the kiss, running his lips along your jaw.   


“We’ll pick this back up when we get home,” he sounded apologetic, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to get yourself back in check. He adjusted himself, brushing your stomach with his knuckles, making your muscles clench.  


“Promise?”  


You felt the rumble of him laughing on your cheeks, and he cupped your butt for just a quick moment.  


“You bet your sweet little ass we will. I have a list of things that I want to do to you.”  


Negan hugged you a little tighter to him, and you took a few deep breaths, finally feeling calm enough to venture out of the corner. He’d done a good job of hiding you from the rest of the partygoers, so you didn’t receive any embarrassing or knowing looks when you walked out behind him.  


The crowd was dense, filled with people from all three floors, and you were jostled once or twice as you followed behind Negan to the other side of the roof. There were only tables and barstools up there, as most of the people were drinking and dancing, and Negan put his jacket around your shoulders, leaning against the side of the brick with you. Thank god the entire area was surrounded by protective fencing because you were sure more than one of these drunkards would’ve attempted to jump off the roof or something.  


Once you’d finished your drink, Negan asked you if you wanted another, but you declined, as you’d hit that sweet spot of alcohol saturation. Horny, yet still self-aware. Happy, but not manic. The only thing you couldn’t control was your urge to tell the man next to you that you were falling in love with him, and you bit your lip as Lou ascended the stage, talking with the DJ and another guy. After a beat, you remembered his name. Bill Gregson was the founder of the Haven House, which was this year’s chosen charity.   


Similar to the place you were going to on Monday, the Kingdom, Haven House was a place for at-risk youth, and Lou had volunteered there in the past. You’d only met Bill once, when you were signing some of the paperwork about six months ago for the party, but he’d been grateful to be this year’s recipient, and you hoped that there was a big amount raised tonight. Judging by the number of people that had shown up, you figured it was a success.  


The music died down, and the announcer produced a microphone, asking the crowd to quiet down.   


“How we feelin’ tonight?” he boomed out, greeted with cheers, and you clapped along. “All right,” the middle-aged deejay was in full performance mode, pumping his fist. “Well, listen up, because the birthday girl would like to make an announcement. Ladies and gentlemen, the woman of the night, Louisa Perrault!”  


You swooned a tiny bit when Negan whistled loud enough to be heard over the applause, catching Lou’s eye, who was beaming. Even in her dorky outfit, she was a natural in front of the crowd, one of those people who were so enchanting that you couldn’t help but be drawn to them, and you felt a surge of affection for your bestie.   


“Thank you,” she said as the cheers continued, waiting until there was a lull before she attempted to speak again. “Thank you,” she repeated, crossing the stage to pull Bill front and center. “When I started doing these birthday celebrations a few years ago, I never in my wildest dreams thought that I’d find so many wonderful friends and family that would come together to help me raise money for causes that are dear to my heart.”  


You were amazed yourself at how fast her annual bashes had caught on, but the woman could throw a hell of a party. Being biased, you thought this years was the best, but that was more due to the company, and you edged closer to Negan, who slung his arm over your shoulder.  


“Whatever your reasons for coming, whether it’s to support your community, or just get shitfaced and dance your ass off,” Lou laughed as most of the crowd let out a cheer, glancing at Bill with a shrug, “it all leads to good things. I’m humbled,” her voice wavered, “humbled and grateful to announce that this year, you’ve raised over five hundred thousand dollars for Haven House!”  


“Holy fuck,” Negan was shocked, and you were, too. That was far and away more than you expected, though you’d spend roughly half of that amount putting this party together, between the decorations, paying the staff, and the booze. It was a drop in the bucket to you, and a write-off, but for Haven House, it was a godsend.   


After the crowd quieted down, Lou handed the mike over to Bill to say a few words, and your mind wandered, contemplating on when you should tell Negan more about your money situation. He knew you’d inherited a third of your dad’s estate, but you’d never directly told him just how much it was. Maybe it was still too soon, and even though he’d said he was okay with it, you didn’t want to risk freaking him out.  


“Honey,” he shook your shoulder, and you blinked a few times, glancing up at him.   


“What?”  


“Lou’s calling you to the front of the stage.”  


Sure enough, you heard your name over the speakers, and you removed his coat, handing it back to him as you pushed through the men and women that were bunched up in front, nearly smacking into the Needle.  


As soon as she spied you, she said your name again, asking everyone to back up and give you some room. You were wearing a grin that probably looked ridiculous, and Lou winked at you, loving the fact that she’d put you on the spot. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle yourself in front of a group of people, but this was unexpected, and well, you were kind of dressed like a trollop.  


“My best friend,” she cooed, her voice vibrating. “I know you’re mortified right now, but I had to take this opportunity to tell you how much I love you.”  


Several people let out little ‘awws’ around you, and you started to tear up. You loved this woman like a sister, and you knew she felt the same, but Lou wasn’t big on flowery pronouncements of affection, so she had to be tipsy.  


“This party may be my baby,” she told the crowd, “but none of this would be possible without her.”  


The people around you cut her off with a good-natured cheer, and you felt a few people pat your arm or shake your shoulder, jostling you. Most of them were strangers, but one was Nikki, and she patted you just a touch too hard.  


“Whatever crazy shit I come up with, she backs up financially with no questions asked. Aside from that, this is my ‘ride or die’ bitch,” she yelled, “and I’m not leaving here without a dance!”  


Lou tossed the mike to the deejay, pointing to the dancefloor, and you skittered back when the crowd made a circle. She jumped off the stage, slamming into you with a hug, laughing when you told her that you hated her and loved her at the same time.   


“Crank it up,” Lou screeched, pushing you back, and she stared at you with a glint in her eye as the music started. You covered your face for half a second, laughing. Of course, she’d play your song. Your Thelma and Louise anthem. No wonder she brought up your White Zombie road trip.  


Fuck it all.  


_**‘Dead I am the one** _

_**Exterminating son** _

_**Slipping through the trees** _

_**Strangling the breeze’**_  


You didn’t think about Negan watching nearby, wondering what he thought of you, and you didn’t care that there were hundreds of other people trying to join in on the floor. You just shouted out the lyrics, dancing without a care in the world next to your buddy, like you’d done a million times before. When you jumped, she jumped. When you shook your ass and threw your arms over your head, so did Lou.   


The rest of the crowd started mimicking your moves, and it almost looked like a coordinated effort. Every time the chorus played, you moved in sync, a rhythmic beast of flashing lights and body parts. ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ came on right after, keeping you on the floor through three more songs.  


“We’re fucking going out dancing soon,” Lou shouted in your ear, nudging you off to the wall.   


“Absofuckingloutely.”  


Negan was right where you left him, chatting with Bob and holding a bottle of water, and when you approached, he had a neutral look on his face.   


“Are you ready to go?”  


“Whenever you are, Dollface.”  


You weren’t tired, but you were definitely ready to head home, and you said your goodbyes to your friends, making your way slowly but surely down to the main level. Negan waited by the door while you grabbed your clothes and supplies, carrying them for you like a gentleman as you finally made it out to the street. There were still a ton of people outside, waiting to get in, and the party was still going to be going strong for a few more hours.   


“Did you have a good time?” you asked, stepping around a hydrant as you walked side by side with Negan down the alley, passing a line of parked cars.  


“I had a fucking blast.”  


“Man, I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next year.”  


“Me, either,” he mused.  


You tried not to read too much into such a simple statement, but your little heart started to beat faster at the thought that he’d still be with you a year from now. “As long as I get the costumes right.” It sounded a little choked, and Negan glanced at you quickly out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t add anything, and you were grateful, taking his free hand.  


His truck was parked about a half-mile away, and he tossed your stuff into the backseat before taking your around to the passenger’s side and helping you in. It was chilly inside the cab, and you rubbed your arms, smoothing down the goosebumps when he climbed in. He turned on the heater for you, waiting until a few stragglers passed by before pulling out.  


Negan drove for about five minutes, humming absently as you replayed the entire night in your mind, only coming out of it when he veered off onto a deserted road, putting the truck in park. You turned to look at him, and he was watching you with that damned smirk, sending a pit of heat to your stomach.  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Take off your pants. _Now_ , my little doll.”


	17. ZZ Top Would Be Proud

Okay, you were thrown off, even with everything that had occurred at the party. Negan’s reactions to your outfits, the promises to rock your world. You’d assumed that he would drive you home and take you upstairs, tearing off your clothes and having his way with you. Maybe swearing at you or engaging in that filthy talk that he was just so damned good at.  


What you certainly didn’t expect was for him to order you to strip off your pants on the side of a deserted road in the dark, and you stared at him in confusion.  


“You want to…do it in the truck?”  


“Who said anything about fucking in the truck?”  


“Well,” you said, “you’re asking me to take my clothes off.”  


Your pulse was still racing, making the cab start to feel downright steamy, and you met his eyes, which were gleaming. Negan was at least a foot away from you, but your skin could almost feel his, an invisible touch that affected every inch of your body.  


“You’d be uncomfortable riding home half-naked.”  


It didn’t sound like a question, but you nodded anyway.  


“Good,” Negan was blunt, punctuating the word with a wide smile, and you frowned in the dark. “That’s the fucking point.”  


“But, why-“  


He reached for your arm, planting your open hand on his very big erection, and you grabbed at it instinctively, noticing the way his voice dropped lower.  


“I’ve walked around with this for hours,” he barked, forcing your hand in place when you tried to let go. “Now, it’s your turn to be on edge. It’s time for your punishment to begin, baby.”  


You could’ve said no. You could’ve refused. You were well within your rights to not comply, and you knew implicitly that Negan wouldn’t hold it against you. He’d still drive you home and drive you wild in your bed. But…you wanted to. A perverse part of you, brought out by him, was anxious to see what the ‘punishment’ was.  


So, you got your hand free, and with burning cheeks and other body parts, you unbuckled your seatbelt and undid the button on your shorts. Lifting your hips, you slid the denim down your legs, negotiating the boots through the legholes, showing it to him.   


“Boots, too.”  


Whether it was too dark to see, you didn’t know, but he made no comment on the fact that you weren’t wearing any panties, and you dropped the shorts and shoes onto the floorboard in front of you, staring straight ahead.   


He put the truck into drive with a quiet chuckle that zinged your spine, and you were off into the night, alternately scared and excited for what was to come.

* * *

The fact that Negan hadn’t touched you by the time you pulled into your driveway was odd, but you sat with your hands in your lap, awaiting further instruction.   


“Did you change the code?”  


“Five-nine-eight-five.”  


“Stay put. I’ll be back.”  


He left the truck running, taking your clothes and a large duffel bag out of the back seat, and you watched as his sinewy form moved up the steps, unlocking the door. When he disappeared inside, you held your breath, because the light flipped on, illuminating the big ass crack in your window. In all of the chaos of the day, you’d kind of forgotten about it, and you sure as shit hadn’t told Negan about Mark’s unannounced visit first thing in the morning.  


Hopefully, he wouldn’t mention it straight away. It would probably kill the mood, and you weren’t sitting half-dressed in a running truck in the middle of the night for nothing.   


Negan came back out in under two minutes, forgoing the driver’s side to come around to you, opening the door like a gentleman. As you turned, he stopped you with his body, leaning deceptively close to grab his keys and cut the engine. The swell of his cheek brushed your nose, gifting you with his own personal scent, and you inhaled deeply, reaching out for a kiss.  


You were rebuffed, quite decidedly.  


“Nope,” he chided you, ducking out of your path, and you let out a grunt of frustration.   


“I can’t even kiss you?”  


“Oh, they’ll be plenty of time for kissing, sweetheart,” Negan took your hand, helping you onto the running board before throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Given the fact that you still had some alcohol in your system and you were dangerously aroused, it sent your head spinning. “There’s just more pressing fucking issues at hand.”  


He set you down in the foyer, immediately ceasing all physical contact with you, and you stood there like a statue as he shut the door, eyeballing the window but not saying anything. Negan locked the door and reset the alarm, speaking with his back to you.  


“Starting with the fact that you’ve been walking around for half the night with no fucking panties on.”  


When he did turn around, you took a tentative step back towards the stairs. With his eyes locked on your groin, he shimmied out of his jacket, laying it over his arm as he picked up his bag.  


“I…couldn’t wear them with the shorts,” you defended yourself, yet not quite sure why you had to. “They would’ve shown.”  


“So, here we are,” he advanced toward you, pushing you closer to the stairs. “With your pretty little pussy practically hanging out, and me with a fucking cock that’s ready to blow. What are we going to do about it?”  


You turned away from him, starting to climb, feeling his body heat right on you as you slowly took each step, your heart thundering and your center throbbing. You knew he was focused on your ass, bare except for the stockings, so you let your hips sway as you made your way upstairs. In fact, every time he exhaled, his breath blew across your skin, creating a feverish desire to come to a complete stop so that his face would smack into you, just to have some sort of contact.  


“What now. Coach?”  


As soon as your left foot hit the landing, he propelled you down the hall to your bedroom, uttering a low growl that would be better served by a dog protecting his bone. Still, it had the intended effect, making you shudder in anticipation. Physically shoving you towards the bed, he’d given up any pretense of gentleness for the moment, throwing his bag somewhere off to the right and taking you by the shoulders.  


Negan was breathing heavily, pushing the air through his mouth so that it blew across your nose, and his eyes, normally such a pretty shade of brown, were swallowed up by his pupils.   


“That that goddamned wig off, little doll. I wanna see every inch of you, from the top of your head all the way down. I wanna see what you’ve been teasing me with all night.”  


It was a relief to take the wig off, and you pulled the bobby pins from your hair, trying to make some sort of order to your messy do. Lou had combed out most of the product, but it probably wasn’t your best look. It didn’t seem to phase Negan, though, who had begun to raise the hem of your abbreviated shirt. It went over your head, landing somewhere behind you. One-handed, he unhooked your bra, and you let it fall to the floor as well.   


You went to lower the fishnets, but he stopped you, closing his thick fingers around your wrists, spreading your arms as wide as they could go. “Leave ‘em on.”  


This was the most bare and exposed that you’d ever felt in your life. The way that Negan was dissecting you with his gaze was unnerving, and your flesh was showing just how much sway he held over you right then. Your nipples were already on point, and there was a creeping flush that was starting between your breasts, slowly making its way up towards your neck. Your lips were parted halfway, so desperate to touch his, yet you kept your arms spread, where he’d left them to divest himself of his own clothes.  


His shirt went at the foot of the bed, and he stood in front of you with a bare chest. Unable to meet his eyes, you watched in a haze as his muscles flexed and moved in a hypnotic beauty, his entire form in pure co-ordination as his pants and boxers came off. Only a thin covering of nylon prevented you from vaulting onto his rock hard dick.   


Well, that and the fact that you were still in his thrall, waiting to be told what would happen next. He led you to the bed, instructing you in a husky voice to lie down on your back. “The middle of the bed,” he said when your head landed on the pillow, and you exhaled loudly as he stroked his erection.  


“You like making me so hard that I can’t think straight?” he asked, walking in a slow circuit around the bed, just out of your reach. “You do, don’t you?”  


When you didn’t answer quickly enough, he gave your thigh a light slap, jolting you out of your trance.   


“Don’t you, sweetness?” he positioned himself near your head, and the sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft drowned out your thoughts. Your eyes were locked on the slippery head, the way he used his thumb to smear the fluid around for better friction. “ _Don’t you_?”  


The harshness in his voice was enough to get you to nod, and you reached out to touch him, whimpering when he skirted out of your reach, a nimbleness that looked out of place on such a large frame.   


“No touching,” Negan scolded you. “Arms over your head.”  


You felt clumsy in comparison to him, with shaky limbs that were reticent to comply, but you managed to get them over your head, locking your hands together to keep them from taking on a life of their own. Punishment, indeed.  


“Atta girl,” Negan praised you, walking achingly slowly to your feet. You spread your legs without thinking, and he chuckled, pinning your ankles in his grip as he continued to stroke himself. “Nope.”  


A whine from deep in your center broke through, though he at least climbed on top of you, straddling your torso and your hips bucked, the burn between your legs continuing unabated. He never stopped pleasuring himself, and your arms started to shake. “Why?”  


It was raspy. It was pained, and it made Negan smile that wicked smile that burned straight through you.   


“Because, whatever you’re feeling right now,” he bent down on his free hand, edging the tip of his cock closer to your face, and your head lifted up, still out of reach. “Times that by a million. That’s how I felt all night, watching you prance around in your tight purple pants,” he groaned, stroking himself faster. “Showing these amazing tits in that see-through shirt. Shaking your sexy fucking body on the dance floor.”  


He sat back up, letting his cock go free to cup the outer part of your breasts, and you moaned when you felt the saliva drip down over them. Not even getting a pity swipe on your nipples, he eased the tip between your throbbing skin, fucking himself on your chest, snarling when your head tilted back.   


“Look at me,” he said through clenched teeth, tightening his hold on you, bringing more pain than you thought possible. His thrusts were quick, and you met his eyes, the malevolent enjoyment that he was getting by using you, by pushing you to the brink of frustration. He should be inside you, your brain wailed. He should be laying on top of you, kissing your mouth and stroking your sides as he fucked you, not taunting you with the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen, inching it closer to your mouth, only to pull it away.   


“Negan, please,” you were reduced to begging, your walls clenching each time he pressed his length forward. Your inner muscles knew as well as you did where he truly belonged, and you felt the impending eruption, nearly sobbing when his jaw clenched. He sped up the cant of his hips, forcing your breasts together, a poor substitute for your cunt, but it ended the way he wanted it to. He got off, and you didn’t.  


His seed shot out in spurts, coating the hollow of your throat as he rode out his orgasm with rocky movements, groaning as the full force of his enjoyment hit a peak. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he was panting, still locked in the throes of happiness when you came alive again, bracing your hands on his shoulders and shoving him roughly. You might as well have tried to move the Empire State Building, for all the good it did.  


He stayed stationary on top of you, lazily pumping his hips as a few more drops dribbled down to your chest, cooling on contact.  


“Thanks a lot,” you hissed, squirming between his thighs to try to get free, and he chuckled.  


“No, thank _you_. I’ve been dying to titty fuck you.”  


“Well, I’m glad someone got some enjoyment out of it.”  


Negan eased to the side with his eyes still closed, and you scrambled to the edge of the bed, shrinking away from his outstretched hand, heading straight for the bathroom. Given the fact that you were so freaking turned on, your steps were wobbly, and you took several deep breaths to calm yourself.  


When you looked up, Negan was standing right behind you with a nasty smirk, and you turned on the faucet, avoiding his smug face. As you reached to put your hand under the water, he stopped you, pulling you back against his chest and laying his arm underneath your breasts. His semi-hard dick rubbed up against your ass, and you contemplated trying to shake yourself loose.  


“Don’t be mad, my little doll,” he purred, making your head snap up. “I told you that I would be punishing you, didn’t I?”  


“I’m not a little doll,” you shot back, your arousal and anger blending together as he continued to grin at your frustration. “I’m a goddamned woman-“  


“Yes you are,” his tone bordered on offensive, and you fought the urge to stomp your feet like a child, thereby disproving your statement. “You just might be the perfect woman.”  


Muttering your name under his breath, he ran his other hand across your throat, smearing his sticky seed over your skin and dipping his coated fingers into your mouth. Reluctantly, you sucked the salty fluid from them, fighting a gag when he pressed his way to the back of your throat.   


“The face of an angel,” he continued, letting you catch your breath as he drew a wet line from your lips to your chin, tilting your head to the side. His mouth attached to your throat, sending a distinctive shiver through your core, and his teeth scraped the junction of your neck and shoulder. If he’d been a vampire, this would’ve been the perfect moment to draw blood, as helpless as you were. “Breasts that thousands of women have gone under the knife to try to copy.”  


He caressed your chest with a feather-light touch, undoing all of the walls you’d just tried to construct, and your legs started to tremble as his erection got sturdier, rocking slowly against your backside. “Hips that are constantly begging to be held in place by my hands, right, baby? Hmm?”  


You nodded once, inching back for more contact, and he groaned, tightening his hold around your torso, encouraging your movements. This was the second time he’d had you in front of the mirror so that you could watch him turn you into a quivering mess, and you whimpered when he cupped your ass.  


“And then there’s this,” he purred, kissing your shoulder. “So fucking juicy. Almost as juicy as your hot, tight little cunt, isn’t it?”  


Negan spun you around, mashing your chest up against his, laying a short, hard smack to your left butt cheek. “I said, isn’t it?”  


“No.”  


“No?” he mimicked the uncertainty in your voice, frowning a little. “You don’t think so?”  


“I…don’t…”  


“You’re absolutely mouthwatering, sweetness,” he licked your lower lip before guiding you back towards the bed, and with unceasing eye contact, he lowered himself to the floor in front of your mattress. He was tall enough that he was able to lay his head back, and he positioned you around his legs, looking up with a smoldering gaze.   


Your chest was sticky with cum, your nipples were hardened points, and the wetness between your legs was unbearable as he walked his fingers up your shins, skimming the outside of your thighs before circling around to your core, still covered with the nylons.  


“Fucking soaked,” he sounded pleased, winking lasciviously, and your legs almost buckled when he ripped the fishnets apart, exposing your sex to his face. “Put your fucking knee on the bed, so I can get up close and personal with your bare pussy.”  


When you failed to move fast enough for his liking, he flung your right leg up, and you knotted your fingers in his hair to steady yourself, earning a grunt of enjoyment. That flaring anger resurfaced, and you pressed your left knee into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The air blew across your soaked center, and he buried his head between your legs.  


“Oh, shit,” you moaned, struck by how different his stubble felt now that you were freshly shaved down south. Lou had insisted you get the full monty, not that you walked around like bigfoot or anything. But the skin of your lips, all sensitive and tingly, were overstimulated against his rough growth, a contrast to the hot, wet trail of his tongue when he circled your entrance. The sounds he made were obscene, slurping and humming as his head bobbed up and down, clearly enjoying what he was doing. If your grip on his hair bothered him, he never let on.  


“Negan,” you panted when his other hand landed on your lower back, holding you in place. “Oh, right there. I’m so close.”  


You and your damned mouth. As soon as you said it, he slowed the motions of his tongue, switching to gentle kisses, and the warmth that had been building turned to pain, your orgasm hanging just out of reach. Tipping your hips in, you tried to finish yourself off on his face, but he was having none of it.   


Suddenly, you went sprawling forward onto the bed, landing face-first with a screech.   


“What the fuck?” it came out loud enough for the neighbors three doors down to hear, and he flipped you onto your back with next to no struggle, jerking you to the edge. You shot him a look of pure hatred, and it didn’t phase him whatsoever. He was stroking himself again, the planes of his chest slightly pink to match the head that was shiny. Negan flicked your thighs with a grin, inching his dick towards you as he kept pumping the length.   


“Aw, don’t be ornery,” he chided. “Put those heels to heaven and I’ll rock your fucking world.”  


“No,” you’d reached your limit, snaking your hands between your legs, and his face darkened at your obstinance. “I’ll just handle this myself. You’re done ‘punishing’ me.”  


“The _fuck_ I am.”  


All night, you’d been trapped in a never-ending dick tease, and you were fine with that when you were out in public. You accepted his rationale that he owed you some payback for whatever reason. You hadn’t even tried to provoke him, for Christ’s sake, but this? This was too far, and you spread your legs obscenely, far wider than you’d ever thought they’d go, and you inserted two fingers before he could stop you.  


God, it felt good, just getting some sort of fullness inside, and you moved them around with a deep moan, letting your palm rest on your clit. Challenging him with a smile, you started to rotate your hips in a circle, nearly giddy at the turn of events. Now, he was the one that was upset. His nostrils were flaring, as if he couldn’t believe that you had the metaphorical balls to turn down his perfect dick, and truth be told, your fingers couldn’t hold a candle to it. But you’d waited long enough, and your head dropped back as you feigned more satisfaction than you were getting. Still, chasing that high was your only focus, and you inched closer before you felt him jerk your arm back.  


“Hey-“  


He clamped his hand over your mouth, looking like that dangerous specimen that beat the hell out of the drunken groper at the baseball game. “This pussy is _mine_ ,” he snarled, getting in your face so you could see how serious he was. The tip of his dick was brushing the back of your thigh, and he used his left hand to yank you closer to him with the waistband of your fishnet stockings.   


At the end of your rope, you bit down on his fingers, but he kept his hand across your mouth until he shoved his way inside you, knocking you back a few inches. The bedspread burned your back as he started to fuck you, pushing your head down into the mattress as he used you for leverage.   


Being manhandled so thoroughly shouldn’t have turned you on the way it was, but you couldn’t help it. Negan was large and powerful, with eyes that could freeze you in place, and when he decided that you weren’t going to cuss him out, he let go of your mouth, setting your ankles on his shoulders, which only deepened your channel, allowing him to smack his hips into the back of your thighs.   


“Since you’re so fucking impatient, I’ll make this short and sweet,” he panted around each word, bending over to suck on your left breast, using his teeth to lift your nipple and let it fall with a pop. He did the same with your right, hitting you over and over again with his hips. You didn’t care. You just needed to finish, and he ran the ridge of his cock over your g-spot, causing you to arch your back, feeling the impending pleasure finally building.   


“I need you,” you whined, with eyes clamped shut and nails that were digging into the back of his arms. “Don’t you understand, Negan? I _need_ you.”  


Hauling you upright, you gasped in surprise when he set you on his thighs, knocking your feet back onto the bed. Like an animal, you rocked up and down on his shaft, searching his eyes for any sign that he desired you with the same intensity that you did for him. It was there, mixed in with fury that you’d changed the game, and also maybe a little bit of admiration that you were so desperate to take control.   


Your palms settled on his cheeks, both of you open-mouthed and breathing heavily, sharing oxygen and carbon dioxide, the same drive to make the other come undone, and you started to cry when he lifted you up to set you on your knees after just a minute.   


He shoved himself back inside you before you could come down too fast, and the slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room. Your head hung down almost to the mattress as he traced the outline of your ass, leaning over you to bite you just below your right shoulder.   


“Come for me,” he ordered, rubbing your clit with his thumb, pressing it harshly. “Show me how much you need me.”  


“I can’t,” you cried, too overstimulated, but when he caught it between his fingers, applying more pressure, you broke. Wracking convulsions filled your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. The bliss was all-consuming, turning your brain to mush and your bones to jelly, and you ended up doubled over, comatose through the aftershocks as Negan continued to assault your insides, faster and faster until he, too, ran out of steam, jerking and sputtering inside you.   


Your mind was refreshingly blank, sapped of all reasoning, and you could hear a faint buzzing somewhere in the room behind his voice, though you couldn’t for the life of you understand what he was saying. Dimly, you realized it was because he was draped over you, and you were curled up almost into a ball, too blissed out to move.  


“Did you hear me, Dollface?”  


Negan’s voice by your ear brought you out of your stupor, and he eased himself out of you gingerly, flopping onto his side as you stretched your legs out, laying on your stomach.  


“What, Coach?”  


His smile was pure exhaustion, and he ran his nose along the outline of your temple. “You didn’t hear a goddamned word I said?”  


“I was a little preoccupied,” you murmured, keeping one eye trained on him.  


“I said, after all the shit I told you about you physically, do you want to know what really makes you the perfect woman?”  


“My cocksucking mouth?”  


He laughed, a deep one that came from his chest, and he pulled you towards him, finally kissing you. A sweet, slow, deep kiss that caused your heart to lurch towards your throat.   


“No, your heart. Your pure, beautiful heart. You make me feel good about myself. You’re the only person that’s made me feel fucking _valued_ in a long ass time.”  


It was the most devastatingly beautiful thing anyone had ever said to you, and you felt your eyes start to water as he hugged you to his chest. You buried your face into his neck, letting out a quiet sob, because you wanted this man for maybe forever. You wanted him to know how wonderful and amazing he was, always, because it was a simple truth. Negan was a gem, a blessing that you never expected, and you thanked the stars above that your life had placed you directly in his path.   


“I wasn’t trying to make you cry,” he rubbed your back, letting you nestle in closer as a vague buzzing began again. This time, you were pretty sure it wasn’t from the mindblowing sex, but possibly one of your phones. “I just wanted to be romantic.”  


“It’s maybe the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you looked up, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And I was just thinking about how lucky I was that you caught me following you.”  


His face lit up, and he rolled you onto your back, bracing your head with his hands. “So, you admit to stalking me, you little minx?”  


“No, I admit to following you,” you clarified, not that it mattered. Both of you turned your heads when the buzzing started again, and Negan sighed, sliding to the edge of the bed to hold up his jeans. Sure enough, it was his phone, and you got a little jealous that someone was calling him so late. While he fished the cell out of his pocket, you peeled off the last bit of clothing you were wearing, debating on whether or not to shower, finally just pulling the covers down and sliding under them as Negan sat up, half amused and half angry.  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Oh, I think you’ll wanna hear this,” he said, scooting back to join you in the bed. He showed you the screen, and your eyes widened in surprise. He pressed the green button, putting it on speaker, but he never got the chance to speak.  


“You vindictive little prick,” Amber’s screechy voice bounced through the room like a bull in a china shop as Negan rolled his eyes. “You had the divorce papers delivered to me at work?”  


“Mmmhmm,” he murmured, laying his head on the pillow, and you felt a possessive urge come over you, prompting you to lay your arm across his chest, kissing the side of his neck. “Fuckin’ A I had them sent there.”  


“You’re so pathetic,” her voice rose a few octaves, and you weirdly wondered if she could shatter glass when she was riled up. “You were too much of a loser to hold onto me, so you had to try to embarrass me in front of everyone I work with? No wonder I ended up with Mark. You're such a piece of shit.”  


Oh, fuck her. You wanted to tell her off so badly that you were starting to see red, but Negan sighed, holding the phone away from you, much like he’d done before.  


“Don’t go away mad, Amber,” he said in a low voice. “Just fuckin’ go away.”  


You laughed, clapping your hand over your mouth as Negan’s chest moved up and down silently, and the both of you glanced at the phone when you heard a shocked intake of breath.   


“You’re _with_ someone? How dare you-“  


Negan hung up, tossing his phone on the nightstand so that he could wrap his arms around you, and you gave him a guilty shrug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”  


“Honey, I don’t give a flying fuck if she knows about us. The divorce is in motion. I’m just kinda surprised Dr. Prick hasn’t told her, yet.”  


“Me, too,” you lied, laying there in silence for a few minutes. You were too tired to get cleaned up, so you rolled over to shut off the lights, taking your spot back on his chest as he hummed quietly.   


On the verge of sleep, you felt him shift underneath you, and you ran your nails through his chest hair, knowing what was coming but not sure how to respond.  


“What happened to the window, Dollface?”  



	18. Get your game face on

Once a month, you held a conference call with your financial team, and today was that day.   


Since the amount of money in your name was substantial, it only made sense to retain the team that had taken care of your father’s interests during the entirety of your life. To your knowledge, Oscar was still with Manning and Associates as well, and you listened as you followed along with the newest ledger that they’d express sent you.  


All of your wealth couldn’t just sit in an account, there were several companies that you were invested in, as well as multiple different portfolios. Your father had always urged you to never spend more than you had, and you’d taken his advice to heart. In fact, you were careful to never use more than the interest you earned, so you were still sitting on your original inheritance, plus some.   


You’d put a lot of thought into how you wanted to be remembered, and if children weren’t in the cards for you, your money would all go to charity when you were gone. Still, the Andrews side of you enjoyed the financial side of life, and you piped up, asking John Manning, your regular go-to guy to divest from a company that wasn’t performing as well as you expected and to put it into something else.   


“Well, I have a few promising ideas that you might be interested in,” John said over the shuffling of papers. “Monroe Pharmaceuticals is on their way to fast-tracking a new leukemia treatment. They expect to have FDA approval within the next year.”  


“Can you send me some more information? Their profit margin for the last ten years?”  


“I’ll have it FedExed over to you today.”  


“Great. What else?”  


John rattled off a few chemical companies, but none of them really interested you, so you asked him to sit on any dividends you’d get from the sale of Berman Manufacturing stock, and you promised to look over the Monroe Pharmaceuticals info as soon as you received it.  


“Can we expect an in-person visit next month?” John’s partner Donald piped in, and you rolled your eyes. The guy was constantly trying to set you up with his son Ronald, even though you’d been with Mark since college, and you demurred, telling him you’d let him know in a few days.  


After wrapping up the call, you headed upstairs to shower and get ready, since you were due to meet with Ezekiel from the Kingdom Rehabilitation Project at noon. He’d called Saturday afternoon to confirm your appointment, and you’d had a pleasant conversation with him as Negan shot you a few glances. When you’d hung up, he ambled over to you with a smile.  


“Who’re you meetin’ with, sugarplum?”  


He didn’t sound jealous, merely curious, and you told him that you’d wanted to start volunteering since you didn’t need to actually work a paying job. As you started to explain about the Kingdom, he cut you off, chuckling.  


“I know Zeke,” Negan smirked, taking a seat next to you. He’d been skimming the pool, and you handed him your iced tea since he was sweating in the late May heatwave. “A couple of my more troubled students have been sent there.”  


“You don’t like him?”  


“Nah, he’s a good guy,” he said, wiping his mouth after draining the rest of your drink. “A bit too hippy-dippy, ‘I’d like to buy the world a Coke and sing’ type of guy for me, but he’s great with the kids. Managed to turn quite a few around.”  


“Oh.”  


“I think it’s great that you want to volunteer with kids.”  


He kissed you with cold lips, and you sat back as he went back to cleaning the pool. Considering how irate he was the previous night, you were grateful that he was back to his normal, jovial self. Lou’s party had been a blast, and the sex after would go down as some of the greatest in your life. Amber getting served her divorce papers was the cherry on the cake of your day, but Negan asking about the cracked front window had changed all that.  


You hadn’t told him during the day about Mark showing up, and as you laid in the dark with him, almost asleep, he’d brought up the window, and you’d shifted to turn away from him, slightly anxious.  


“I’m waiting,” he murmured when you’d hesitated, and you took a deep breath before answering.  


“Well, I accidentally cracked it when I opened the door too roughly.”  


“Why?”  


He wasn’t dumb, but he wanted to hear you say it, and your shoulders were somewhere near your ears when you answered.  


“Because Mark showed up first thing this morning.”  


It was deathly quiet behind you, and you felt the mattress jiggle as he got off of it. You don’t know what he ran into, the chair, maybe, but he let out the longest ‘fuck’ you’d ever heard, and he flipped on the overhead light, blinding you both. While you tried to get acclimated, he started to put on his jeans without boxers, and you lurched out of the bed in a panic.  


“Negan, please don’t leave,” you’d touched his elbow, hurt that he’d blame you for what happened, and it only deepened when he physically brushed you off.   


“Oh, I’ll be back,” he snapped, fumbling with the button, “right after I hunt that rat fuck down, rip off his balls, shove ‘em down his throat, and punch his fucking skull so hard that he forgets half of his med school education.”  


“Negan-“ you tried again, and he cut you off in anger, turning to face you with flushed cheeks and a snarl.  


“This shit ends _tonight_. I don’t give a flying fuck what he does with Amber, but this prick is done sniffing around you.”  


He bent down to get his shirt, and you clutched his arm to stop him. This did have to end, but you weren’t going to let him go running off just to wind up in jail over Mark.  


“It is over. He agreed to sign the papers. He won’t contest the divorce.”  


“And you actually believe that?”  


The look on his face was so condescending that it rose your hackles completely, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your hair was standing on end.  


“Now listen, buddy,” you jabbed his bare chest with your fingernail, and he slapped your hand away again, getting in your face.  


“I’m _not_ your fucking buddy.”  


Negan had never seen you mad. He’d seen sadness, despondency, and even irritation, but never true anger, and that was about to change. In what could only be described as hollering, you lost your shit, getting so worked up that your nose smashed into his since he was towering over you.  


“That’s enough!”  


With wide eyes, he backed off a step, and you pressed forward, feeling the blood pulsing in your chest.  


“You can either come back to bed and let me actually tell you what happened, or you can go running off like a jerk. But if you _do_ leave, don’t bother coming back tonight.”  


The ball was in his court, and you took your naked self back to the bed, tossing the covers over your neck with extra flair as you turned away from him. For a long while, there was total silence at your back, and then the shuffle of clothing. Holding your breath, you laid completely still until Negan appeared in your peripheral vision, nude and somewhat abashed. He climbed in next to you, and you stared up at him with a neutral expression.  


He sighed as his head hit the pillow, and you waited patiently for him to speak. First, he studied your face, biting his lip, and then he finally opened his mouth.  


“I won’t apologize for getting pissed,” he said, and you frowned, not sure where he was going with this. “But I am sorry for not listening. I can’t fucking help it, okay? I’m finding myself becoming very…protective of you and what we’ve got going, and to hear that he showed up here again after yesterday, can you really blame me?”  


“No,” you conceded, and he seemed to relax a little until you continued. “But I can blame you for thinking that I’d fall for anything he had to say like an idiot, and if you would’ve let me explain from the get-go, maybe you would’ve reacted differently.”  


“That’s not fair. If I would’ve told you that Amber showed up to see me, wouldn’t you have reacted?”  


“Of course,” the thought of her even trying to sink her claws back into him made you want to hunt her down and scratch her face to bits, and you took a deep breath. “But I would also let you tell me what happened first.”  


He was suspicious, but he inclined his head for you to talk. After getting your thoughts in order, you met his eyes, scooting a bit closer to him.  


“I woke up in a really good mood this morning,” you figured you’d just gauge his reaction as you went along, and adjust how much information you were going to give based off of that. “It was nice to be able to spend the night with you again, and when I saw you’d left me a note, it made me happy.”  


Negan’s face relaxed, and you put the palm of your hand to his chest playing with his hair. It soothed the both of you, and you continued on. “So, I started the coffee, and before I could even take a sip, he was pounding on the door, calling my name.”  


The muscles under your hand hardened, and you stroked him slowly, waiting until you felt him calm down a little.  


“As pissed as you were, I was probably doubly so, and I turned off the alarm, yanking the door open. That’s when it flew out of my hand and hit the window, cracking it,” you explained. “He kind of jumped back, and I flipped out, asking him why he couldn’t leave me the hell alone.”  


“Yeah, I’d like to fucking know, too.”  


“Well, he asked me to give him five minutes to hear him out, and if I still wanted to go ahead with the divorce, he’d sign the papers and never bother me again.”  


Negan snorted loudly, enough that you jerked a little, and your fingers spasmed against his skin. When you went to remove them, he covered your hand with his, and you kept talking.  


“I thought the same, but he swore on his mom’s life.”  


That brought him up short, and you shared a grim look. While he was otherwise pliant, you slid your foot between his calves, rubbing it along the side of his leg, and he opened them a little more, allowing you to inch in further.   


“Mark’s mom is the most important person in his life, even more than me,” you grumbled. “So, if he brought Sylvia up, I knew he was serious.”  


“...I believe you.”  


“Anyway, I told him he had exactly five minutes, and then I wanted him gone.”  


Negan’s hand slipped under the covers, resting on the small of your back, and that little tingle that you always got from him seeming to take ownership of your body flared up. Nothing could ever match it in your mundane little life.  


“Of course he saw your note and asked if you’d spent the night. I told him it was none of his business, and that’s when he started a little trip down memory lane.”

Relaying Mark’s side of the conversation, you told Negan about his memory of your first meeting, down to where you were sitting in class, and the fact he always felt that he wasn’t good enough for you. Not due to the money, oh no, but because you were so pretty and popular, you were extra bitter as you spoke.   


“You said he gaslighted me the night before,” and Negan nodded, “and this time he claimed that it was all on him. That he knew his fears of never being good enough were something that he needed to work on, and that he’d get therapy.”  


Negan’s eyes closed, and you squinted, watching a few different expressions cross his face. “I went to therapy with Lucille.”  


“You told me that, sweetheart,” you said lightly, caressing his cheek until he opened his eyes to see you smiling tenderly. “But the kicker to all of this is that he hasn’t even broken up with Amber.”  


If eyebrows could rise completely off of someone’s face, it would’ve been Negan’s. “He’s still with the bitch?”  


“He claimed that he hadn’t seen her since he left here yesterday, but it doesn’t matter.”  


“You…don’t want to go to therapy with him?”  


“Of course not,” you raised yourself up on one elbow, looking down at the most beautiful face you’d ever seen, and it wasn’t because of his good looks. “It would be hard to get back together with someone after you just pretty much thanked him for cheating on you.”  


“You didn’t,” he grinned up at you after absorbing what you said, and you nodded slowly, matching his smile. Tracing the line of his jaw, you wanted nothing more than to be able to touch this man whenever you wanted. Even if your relationship didn’t work out forever, how could you possibly have given up the chance that it could?  


“I did,” you answered back, cupping his face as you leaned down to kiss him. “And then he left, so it’s over on my end. He can’t hurt me anymore, Negan.”  


Negan met you halfway, putting his other arm around you to roll you onto your back, settling between your legs. “I’m never going back,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair, losing yourself in the moment. You both had the slow, languid movements of two people that were exactly where they wanted to be, and he entered you fully. Unlike earlier, this time was more emotional than physical, and you moaned into his neck, enjoying the rich mahogany traces on his skin.  


“You’re mine now,” he breathed into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, and you sent one right back.  


“And you’re mine, Negan.”  


You weren’t shy or hesitant. You didn’t play coy, with false demureness or flushed cheeks. You were simply honest, and when he looked deep into your eyes, it caused an unexpected reaction. His entire body shook as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and you placed a protective hand on the back of his head, making a cooing sound.   


He didn’t last long, and you didn’t care. It was the perfect end to a day filled with good and bad feelings, and when Negan collapsed on top of you, you kissed his temple softly, both of you falling asleep with the lights on.  


* * *

‘Woof!”  


You jumped a foot under the spray with a soaped up face, rinsing off to see Fletch sitting outside the glass door watching you.   


“What are you doing in here, buddy?”   


Since Negan had spent the entire weekend with you, he’d brought the dog over with your blessing on Saturday afternoon while the locksmiths and window guys were working, and Fletch had made himself at home. In truth, you were in love with the bulldog, and after he’d walked through the door, sniffing every inch of your house, it seemed to pass muster, and he’d spent just about every minute at your feet, much to Negan’s grumblings.  


A doggy pillow had been put at the foot of your bed, along with one in the kitchen, and his toys and bones were now scattered over every level. Secretly, you felt a little less lonely in your own house, and Sunday night, when Negan mentioned taking him back to Simon’s, your face fell a little bit, prompting him to ask you if you wanted Fletch to stay longer.  


The dog barked happily before you could answer, and Negan shrugged, but with a little smile. Neither of you had mentioned him leaving your house anytime soon, and as you dried off, Fletch licked at some of the water beads on your ankles as you pondered asking him to move in.  


It was probably too soon, and that made you nervous, but not like you'd assumed. You weren’t unsure of being around Negan all the time. You were afraid that he’d say no, and then you’d feel like a fool.   


Glancing at the clock, you hustled into the closet to get dressed, browsing through your hangers as you debated on how fancy you should look. You were hoping to be able to volunteer with Ezekiel if it seemed like a good fit, but you weren’t sure if this was like an actual job interview or something. After weighing your options, you decided on a simple pair of black slacks, a pale blue, short-sleeved blouse, and a pair of black boots.   


Professional, but not fancy. Plus, you were supposed to meet Lou for lunch after, so…  


Fletch laid at your feet gnawing on one of his squeaky toys while you got ready, and you gave him an occasional head pat as a reward. Deciding to keep your hair and makeup simple, you added just a touch of mascara and blush, topping it off with some pink gloss. You put your hair in a twist since it was muggy this morning, and with a short whistle, you started down the steps with your phone.  


“Do you have to go potty?”  


The dog barked and headed for the patio door, and you followed behind him as he danced around in circles. The yard was fenced in, thank God, and when you slid the glass partwayf, he took off like a shot, huffing and puffing in a hurry to mark his territory. Fletch was well-behaved, as you’d worried he’d go running right into the pool when Negan had brought him over, but he’d never ventured past the steps unless he was being held. He much preferred rooting around in your flower beds, emerging with a dirty face and lolling tongue.  


Unfortunately for him, you didn’t have time right now for him to mess around, and you whistled in that sharp tone that Negan used, and his goofy grin greeted you after he relieved himself. His water dish was full, and you warned him to stay off the couch in a baby voice, locking and securing the house before going out to your car.  


A mild nervousness started when you shut the garage door, and you sat at the end of the drive, putting in the address for your GPS to guide you.   


_Calm down_ , you told yourself. _This isn’t life for death. Just a chance to change up your life._ You chuckled to yourself, because your life had already changed, but you really wanted this to work out. You wanted more than what you’d been doing.   


Halfway to the Kingdom, your phone rang, and you answered, happy to hear Negan’s voice on the other end. There was a lot of yelling and shouting behind him, all teenage boys from what you could tell, and he warned them to shut the fuck up as you grinned to yourself.  


“Sorry, sweetheart. These little fuckers are working my last goddamned nerve.”  


“It’s the last week of school. You know what that’s like.”  


“Well, that doesn’t mean they get to act like sorry little bitches. How’s my boy?”  


“Pooped, peed, and chilling with his toys.”  


When you reached the intersection that would take you to the Kingdom, you checked your face in the mirror, pushing down the nerves to a tolerable level.  


“Are you on your way?” he asked, bellowing in your ear before you could answer. “Thanks to Grimes not shutting his fucking trap, everyone needs to run ten more laps. Now!”  


“Uh, I’m almost there. Look, you’re really busy, so why don’t I let you go?”  


“Yeah, these little shits can’t be left to their own devices,” Negan sighed. “You’re gonna do great. See you at five?”  


“See you then,” you disconnected the phone with fondness, thankful that you weren’t in his class. As you drove, you wondered if any of the parents had ever complained about his foul mouth, though with the accompanying charm, you figured that Negan was more than capable of disarming anyone that would dare approach him to address it.  


When you saw the sign, you took a deep breath, turning on your signal and pulling into the gravel, tree-lined drive, unaware of the car that had been tailing you for your entire ride. Unbeknownst to you, the meeting at the Kingdom was going to be the least eventful stop of your day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun stuff coming up next chapter!


	19. Grow with me

“Welcome to the Kingdom. I’m Jerry.”  


You peered up at an absolutely huge guy that was guarding the front gate, and if he didn’t have such a jovial expression on his face, you’d be terrified. “Uh, hi. I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Ezekiel?”  


Jerry glanced down at the clipboard in his hand, and he verified your name, making a checkmark next to it. Then he flipped up the paper, freeing a white ‘Visitor’ sticker, and he handed it over to you with the tip of his finger.  


“Just make sure you keep that on,” he said, pressing a button to open the gate. “You’re gonna drive for about a mile or so, and you’ll come up to the main building. It’s only two stories high, and there’s a parking lot to the left. Just park in the visitor’s spot by the crabapple tree. You can’t miss it.”  


“Thanks,” you rolled up your window as he saluted you, pulling through the metal prongs. The lane wound to the right, and it was lined with large maple trees and low bushes. You wondered if the kids were responsible for raking all the leaves up in the fall, a Herculean task, no doubt. Yard work was one thing you never cared for. No, that wasn’t true. You liked to garden, both flowers and vegetables, but mowing and raking would count as punishment in your eyes. Mark sure as hell didn’t get his hands dirty, so you paid a local mowing company to cut and trim your yard, even though you had a top-of-the-line mower sitting in your shed. Nothing but the best, you thought bitterly, no matter what the reason.  


The Kingdom didn’t have any of those issues, you noticed as you drove slowly down the lane. Two kids were on tractors, cutting the tall grass to the left, and to the right was a run-down football field that had a dirt track around it. Roughly half a dozen boys were throwing around a ball, and beyond that were a row of greenhouses.   


A part of you was sad that there seemed to be so many kids that needed extra attention, but the rest was happy that they had a place to go to feel safe. If there was anything that you could do to make their lives better, you’d be happy to help, and you continued on, coming up on a set of one-story buildings. They must’ve been old classrooms, and the doors were painted in cheery primary colors. Each one was numbered and had a wreath on it, and you felt a warmth in your heart at the care that had gone into this place.  


Set back on a separate drive was the main building, a two-story brick structure like the big guy explained. A hand-painted sign designated it as the Kingdom offices, and you pulled into the little parking area, stopping your car under the only tree in the lot, a crabapple.  


Nerves made you sit in the running vehicle for a few minutes, trying to psyche yourself up. It wasn’t a job interview, but it was the first time in a long while that you were going to be selling your strengths to someone. More than a volunteer position, this was a chance for you to reemerge into the world, to make some sort of mark.   


It was only when a girl holding an armful of books passed by, giving you a curious look did you finally step out, trailing behind her towards the steps that led up to the doors. She stood there for a second, trying to turn the knob, and you leaned around her, opening it up for her.  


“Thanks,” she mumbled, going in and setting the books down at the front counter. She had long, black hair and the air of someone who didn’t want to be noticed. Her head was bowed and her eyes were hidden by a baseball cap.   


You stood just behind her, waiting as she signed a ledger, and she shot past you disappearing back out into the sun. The woman behind the counter moved the books, offering you a pleasant smile.  


“May I help you?”  


“Hi,” you greeted her, stepping up. “I have an appointment with Ezekiel?”  


_Don’t make it sound like a question, stupid._  


“I’m Carol,” she stuck out her hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself. Appearing to be in her mid to upper forties, Carol had a friendly face and very sharp eyes. She took in your general demeanor quickly before coming around to show you down the hall. You passed a few rooms, each of which had a handful of men and women in each, all the way down to a door that had Ezekiel’s name on it. She knocked once before opening it, and you got your first look at the man you were hoping to impress.  


Wearing a denim shirt and work pants, Ezekiel was sitting on the edge of his desk, conversing with a young male that looked to be about fifteen. He had his hand resting on the young boy’s shoulder and the most loving smile on his face. It was so affectionate that it reminded you of your dad, and the way he’d talk to you. As far as first impressions go, it was a good one.  


The boy rose out of his seat, hugging Ezekiel quickly, much to your surprise, and then they both turned their attention to you and Carol. Arm in arm, they walked forward, and Zeke put his other arm around Carol.   


“Welcome to the Kingdom,” he greeted you in that deep, reassuring voice, and you found yourself charmed. “I’m so glad you came. I see you met Carol, and this is Henry.”  


Henry had a baby face and red-ringed eyes, though he was smiling, and he shook your hand like a little gentleman. “Pleased to meet you.”  


Arm in arm, Carol and Henry excused themselves, shutting the door behind them, and you took one of the empty chairs as Ezekiel sat as well, again on the edge of the desk.   


“Thank you for seeing me,” you began, and he laughed at your formality.   


“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “We’ve been very appreciative of your donations the past few years.”  


“I’m happy to help in whatever way possible.”  


Ezekiel started the Kingdom about ten years prior, he told you, after spending most of his adult life working at the Smithsonian’s zoo. One of the big cat caretakers, he told you that he’d enjoyed his job, but there was still something missing in his life.   


“I always thought I’d have a big family,” he mused as he showed you around the grounds. “I grew up in foster care, and I felt like it was a piece of my life that was missing.”  


Leaning up against a chain-link fence, the two of you watched as some of the kids worked in one of the large gardens, tending to new vegetable plants. The Kingdom tried to be as self-sustaining as possible, especially when it came to food, and the kids helped to prepare all the meals.  


“I saw so many kids in the system that couldn’t get a handle on adulthood. Friends I lost, and enemies alike. And I just wanted to help out the ones that needed the love and guidance that their families couldn’t provide them.”  


Most of the children came from homes that didn’t have insurance, so a lot of what kept the Kingdom running was private donations and the money that they earned from the things they grew and made. Ezekiel tried to teach each resident a trade, along with life skills and traditional schooling.  


“I want each child to be able to choose what works for them,” he told you as you stood in one of the empty classes. “Some go on to college, and we help with the application and placement process. Others go directly into the workforce. Our success rate is well over ninety percent.”  


“That’s amazing,” you were honestly surprised, given the troubled nature that some of the kids were coming from, but it was a testament to how much he cared that he was able to reach them. “All kids need someone to believe in them.”  


“So do adults, which brings me to the million-dollar question,” Ezekiel said. “What exactly is your goal? What are you hoping to get out of this?”  


You thought he’d ask how you wanted to contribute, but he preferred to know your motivations. Were you here because you genuinely wanted to help, or was this more about you?  


“I’ve been blessed in my life,” you smiled, glancing around at the drawings that were stuck up on the wall. “I was born into a family that built a company from the ground up, and it’s been a mixed bag in a lot of ways.”  


You gave him a brief summary of your father’s story and the things he had to give up, but also what he gained. How he believed in the good in people, and always giving back. How you wanted to honor him and put more than your money to work.  


“I’m in a transition period in my life,” you felt you owed it to him to be honest. “I’m…I’m tired of being focused only on myself. I want to do anything I can to make things better for others.”  


“And how would you do that?”  


“I can really do anything you need me to. Whether it’s cleaning or helping to cook. I’m not picky.”  


Ezekiel studied you for a moment, and you felt a little like he was on the precipice of a decision. You found that you really liked this place, what he was trying to do, and you hoped he’d let you be a part of it.   


“You graduated summa cum laude from George Washington,” he laughed as your eyes widened. Clearly, he did his homework on you. “I’m not going to have you sweeping floors. What I’m hoping is that you’ll work with our kids on financial responsibility.”  


Waving to Jerry on your way out, you sang along with the radio, feeling on top of the world. Sitting on the passenger’s seat was an authorization form for a background check, a tentative lesson plan, and a volunteer packet that you needed to fill out and bring back with you the following Tuesday.  


You finally had a job. No, a purpose, and you called Oscar first to tell him.  


“Poppet, that’s wonderful,” he cheered, sounding so happy that you teared up a little. “Dad would be so proud of you.”  


“Thank you, Papa. I’m…everything is working out the way it should, I think.”  


“Oh?”  


“I know this is going to sound insane, especially after everything that’s happened with Mark, but,” you took a deep breath, plowing ahead. “There’s someone special that I’ve been spending time with.”  


“Tell me.”  


Two words, with no judgment and no condemnation, and it lightened your heart. You were a grown woman, and you didn’t need your parent’s permission, but knowing that he had your back no matter what was priceless.  


“It’s, um, it’s actually the husband of the woman that Mark, uh, was seeing,” you grimaced to yourself, aware of how asinine it sounded, and he laughed lightly. “We met- I actually sought him out to- oh, Jesus this sounds terrible- but to just give him a head’s up, and, uh, it turns out that he’s pretty amazing.”  


“Oh, Poppet,” he chuckled, and your face burned as you sat behind a line of cars at a traffic light, “you know I’m a big believer in fate. Why, if I hadn’t answered the ad your father placed for an assistant, I wouldn’t have found the two loves of my life.”  


You couldn’t respond, the emotion too overwhelming. Oscar had been more of a parent to you than your mother, and you just couldn’t fathom your life without him, and you understood what he was saying. Life was a series of choices, as lame as it sounded, but what if he was right? What if, looking back at your life years from now, you were still with Negan? Would it really matter then that Mark and Amber had been the catalyst for something so significant?  


“I love you, Papa, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”  


“You’re my girl,” he sniffled, and you wiped your eyes, “so, tell me about this guy.”  


“His name is Negan, and he’s a high school teacher,” you said, feeling a little flutter in your tummy. “He’s really funny and smart, and I just feel…happy when I’m with him. I’m looking forward quickly, instead of backward. Is that crazy?”  


“Life _is_ crazy. Or, it should be. If it feels right, then it’s right.”  


“I needed to hear that.”  


“I have some news of my own,” Oscar’s voice went suddenly squeaky, and you went from cautious optimism to crushing dread. He was sick, he was packing up and fleeing back to England. “I have a date tonight,” he sounded so shy and unsure that you almost pulled off the road.  


“What? That’s amazing!”  


“I’m scared, Poppet.”  


“Oh, why?” your heart almost broke in your chest. This was a good thing. “Because of Dad?”  


“Yes,” he whispered. “I miss him so much.”

“Dad would want you to get out there. I believe that from the bottom of my heart. No one can ever replace him for you, but it’s like you told me. He’d want you to be happy, Papa, and I want you to be happy, and anyone that gets to spend time with you and be in your life is lucky.”  


Your car was filled with shaky breathing, from both you and Oscar, and you pulled into Chef Guo, cutting the engine. Father and daughter, you joked, both putting themselves out there, and you pondered having a double date. Oscar laughed, breaking the brief melancholy, and you learned that he was going out to dinner with Leon Rivers, who owned a chain of gourmet food stores up and down the East Coast. You vaguely remembered him from social functions that you’d been forced to attend over the years.  


Obviously, your dad and Oscar had quite an active social life, and given your privileged upbringing, there were many high society functions, fundraisers, and just general hobnobbing with lots of rich folks. Leon, from your recollection, was close to your dad’s age. He seemed nice enough, and you wished Oscar luck and made him promise to call you tomorrow to give you all the details.  


After hanging up, you texted Lou to see if she was at the restaurant yet, but she told you she was running late and to go in and get your table. You were supposed to meet at two, and it was five minutes before. It was odd, since your bestie was early to the point of annoyance. She always beats you to places, but you shrugged it off, heading in.   


Your steps were light, and you felt unburdened on the home, family, and career front. Things were moving forward for you and Oscar, and you wore a huge smile when you walked in. You gave the girl Lou’s name since she’d made the reservation, and you were shown to your seat.   


The dining room was decently populated for a Monday afternoon, and you played on your phone while you waited. Five more minutes passed, and still no Lou.  


“You fucking _bitch!_ ”  


Nearly falling out of your seat, you looked up, startled, to see Amber standing over you with her hands on her hips. 


	20. The bad, the good, and the really fucking ugly

  


As far as ambushes go, this was a pretty good one.   


You’d hoped to never see this asshole for what would hopefully be a long life, yet here you were, totally unprepared, and Amber was standing over you with an utterly cruel look on her face. She was dressed in a pair of short shorts, a skimpy top, and high-heeled sandals. Perfect for scoring her next sugar daddy, you thought.  


“I beg your fucking pardon?” you stared up at her, trying to keep your voice low. The tables around you were empty, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t overhear, and you were half-tempted to stand up, but you figured she was making enough of a scene for the two of you. “Have you been _following_ me?”  


“Huh, but it’s okay for you to have some creepy guy hide in bushes and take pictures of me?” Amber sneered, looking down on you like she was so much better than you. “You read personal private correspondence of mine.”  


“Addressed to my husband. Are you really that dense?” Oh, you wanted to scream from the top of your lungs at this turd of a human being. It was taking everything inside you not to stand up and swing at her like Jake LaMotta. “You were cheating with my husband and let’s not forget that you two flew off to Seattle not two weeks ago and lied about it.”  


“Can you really blame him?” she hooted, her already annoying voice getting higher than should legally be allowed. “I mean, look at you, cow, and then look at me.”  


“Wow, you just make friends all over the place, don’t you?”  


Both you and Amber turned, and you began to think that maybe someone above just flat out didn’t like you. Nikki slid around to the opposite chair, plopping into it with a knowing smirk, and Amber’s face took on a vicious quality. Bitches loved backup, that's for sure.  


Well, Jesus Christ, maybe you should try to get ahold of Tracey Garrison, your fourth-grade bully to see if she could join the party, too. That way, everyone could just line up to take shots at you at once, and you wouldn't need to get bogged down by brief periods of feeling really good about yourself and your life.  


“What in the hell are you doing here?” you whisper-hissed, your vision starting to prickle. Unsure of who you should direct your rage at, you snuck a peek up at Amber, who was watching Nikki with a cruel grin. She was clearly happy that there was someone else to make your life a living hell around.  


“I have a lunch date, but this is wayyyy more interesting,” Nikki rested her chin on her hand, wearing a serene smile. “Don’t let me interrupt.”  


The waiter came over, holding out one of the other empty chairs, offering it to Amber, but you asked him for a moment, as the actual fucking person that you were here to meet hadn’t arrived. It didn’t matter, because she parked her non-existent ass in it, anyway.   


“I’ll ask one last time before I call the cops. What the fuck do you want?”  


“I know it was you on the phone,” she sniffed, setting her purse in her lap, and you ignored Nikki’s enraptured expression. “Quite frankly, I think it’s sad.”  


You didn’t dignify her allusion with a response, and she tilted her head to the side, studying you like you were some sort of moldy Petri specimen. Was this bitchery strictly you-centric, or did she treat everyone so horribly? Suddenly, you were struck with worry for anyone that she cared for at the hospital that didn’t measure up in her eyes.   


“He came onto me,” Amber dropped that bomb on you, letting it hang out there for a moment. “Oh, I know you think it was me chasing after him, but you’re wrong. He asked _me_ out. He spent weeks at the hospital telling me how miserable he was in his marriage, you ugly cow.”  


_Don’t cry,_ you told yourself, feeling your nostrils start to sting. That was the exact opposite of what Mark had led you to believe after the big confrontation. In fact, he’d made it seem like he was simply vulnerable, and she’d played up to his insecurities, knocking down his ‘good husband’ defenses. In the end, it really didn’t matter, but it hit you where you were most sensitive, the fact that you really didn’t have the relationship you thought you did.   


“Hold on a second,” Nikki interjected, waving her hand. “Is this the chick that’s been hooking up with Marky Mark?”  


Amber’s chin jutted out, and she shrugged, unconcerned, like someone had just asked her if she was a natural blonde. Her eyes remained focused on you, waiting for you to cry, and if you did, you knew it would give her a power over you that you’d never get back.  


“What I actually came here to say,” Amber looked down her nose at you, wrinkling it slightly,” is that you can fuck _him_ all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that I won. I got the better man, and I’ll have the better life. Enjoy living in a crappy little one-floor house and taking vacations to the Outer Banks. I’ll be in a mansion and spending the best years of my life with a doctor-“  


“What in the blue hell is she talking about?” Nikki butted in, shooing the waiter away when he walked back over. “Are you still sleeping with Marky Mark? What happened to tall, dark, and handsome?”  


“No, I’m not with Mark, despite the fact that he showed up at my house last Friday morning begging me to take him back,” you said, getting a sick pleasure from watching Amber’s face flush pink. “Even though he wanted to break up with her and go to therapy to try to repair our marriage, I told him that I wasn’t interested.”  


“You’re such a liar,” she snapped. “There’s no way he’d want to go back with you over me. And you can have Negan. He’s of no use to me anymore.”  


“Wait, wait, wait,” Nikki laughed, getting as much joy out of witnessing this as if she stumbled upon Shakespeare in the park with Meryl Streep in the starring role. “Negan was with her?”  


“We met when I was kind enough to let him know that his wife is a piece of shit that was cheating on him.”  


“So, you pretty much just swapped spouses?”  


“I clearly got the better deal,” Amber shot her a dirty look. “Mark is a doctor, and Negan is a teacher.”  


“ _And?_ ” Nikki egged her on, and you contemplated just getting up and leaving.  


“Mark is gonna be rich, and I won’t be dumb enough to let someone else take him away. While she’s struggling to have a middle-class life, I’ll be seeing the world and living comfortably. Negan will never make a triple-digit salary.”  


“You threw away that hot as fuck man for money?” Nikki doubled over, clutching her stomach. “And _you_ now have that hot as fuck man,” she jerked her head towards you, “while she’s stuck with your mealy-mouthed ex? Oh, this is too funny. No wonder I can’t stand you.”  


“Looks don’t matter when he’s nothing but blue-collar,” Amber rolled her eyes. “Mark’s cute, and he’ll spoil me. Negan won’t give her anything but an okay time. He’s boring as hell. He never wants to go anywhere or do anything fun. It doesn’t matter, anyway. “  


“Honey,” Nikki pouted obnoxiously, and you shook your head in frustration. “If you were looking for a free ride, you picked the wrong spouse.”  


“What are you talking about?”  


Nikki put her fingers over Amber’s wrist, patting her in sympathy. She winked at you, and you wiped your eyes, hating yourself that this twit had any effect on you. Not to mention the fact that she was lucky enough to be married to Negan, but never really took the time to know the real him. There wasn’t a thing boring about him that you’d seen so far.  


She’d preyed on him when he was still mourning Lucille, you knew, but beyond his looks and his steady income, had she ever even bothered to try to connect with him? Just by what you knew of this woman, you couldn’t quite see her discussing literature or current events. She existed solely by what she could post to social media, and her own self-involved, self-motivated interests, and for just a split second, you pitied her.   


“You didn’t really think that Marky Mark the wonder douche bought that big-ass mansion and Mercedes himself, did you? Aw, you did,” Nikki stuck out her lower lip, frowning. “That’s so sad.”  


“Mark’s a doctor-“  


“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Nikki snorted, patting her again. “But she could buy and sell you millions of times over, Crackhead Barbie.”  


Amber’s face went from pink to full-on red, and she stared at you with her mouth hanging open. Obviously, she was seeing you in a whole new light, but you were too busy gaping at Nikki in the exact same way.  


“You not only relieved her of a puss of a husband, you also handed her that fine as fuck man on a silver platter,” she shook her head, looking both irritated and entertained at the same time. “While you’re waiting for your little dinghy to come in with Doogie Loser, M.D., she and that pristine specimen of a stud will be living it up, rich bitch yacht style.”  


Amber made a series of squeaks, and you watched in what felt like slow motion as her hand flew out to smack your face, but it was stopped by Nikki, who twisted it out and behind Amber’s back. The blonde bitch was way out of her league, and your eyes bugged out. Nikki had been taking martial arts since freshman year, and she could incapacitate a man twice her size.  


“We’re not going to be doing that,” she purred, bending Amber’s wrist, and she whimpered. “If you ever show your skanky ass around again, we’ll pick up right where we left off. She may be too classy to really tell you what she thinks of you, but I’m not. Step up to her again, and I’ll rip your really annoying vocal chords out.”  


Nikki let her go, and Amber shot out of her seat, screeching. She waved for the waiter, who came right over, thinking that he was finally going to be able to do his job.   


“Call the police! She just assaulted me!”  


The poor guy looked helplessly between the three of you, and you asked him if the manager was on site. He nodded, retreating, and you rose as well, pointing your finger in Amber’s face.  


“Leave, before my good friend Tony the manager shows up, and I make sure he calls the police. You followed me, harassed me, and tried to slap me, dumbass. She was just protecting me. I’ll gladly see this through.”  


“You’ll pay for this, you fucking cow,” she trilled, turning with a flick of her hair and stomping off, and you sat back down, shaking. Nikki was totally nonchalant, sipping at a glass of water and perusing the menu, and you nervously smoothed your hair. You’d never actually met the manager here, but you could bluff as well as anyone, and when the waiter returned with the real one, you quickly explained the situation.   


He apologized for your inconvenience and asked that you let him know if she showed up uninvited again. Nothing about the situation was the restaurant’s fault, but you appreciated it all the same, since you were clearly shaken, and when you asked for just a few minutes more, both men nodded politely.   


“Why are you here?”  


“I’m meeting Lou for lunch.”  


Well, that was bullshit. You typed a hissy message to Lou, asking her why she invited Nikki without telling you, and the message was read immediately. Two seconds later, a new thread popped up, with the three of you in it, and you clicked on it as Nikki’s phone beeped, too.  


**-You two need to sort your shit out. I’m sick of whatever’s been going on, and it ends today. If you don’t kiss and make up, I’m done with the both of you.**

What the fuck did _you_ do? None of this tension was two-sided. Nikki was the one that froze you out and turned the Three Musketeers into scattered twosomes. You resented that you were being painted with her brush, and you stared her down as she read the message.  


When she was done, Nikki set the phone aside as easily as if she’d just checked the weather, and you sat in silence until the poor waiter came back. Since your entire party was here, apparently, you placed your order and asked for an iced tea with lemon.   


Once you were alone again, you both seemed to not want to be the first one to speak. Nikki had Lou’s stubborn streak, undercut with a vulnerability that she fought to hide most of the time. Her hair, which was down and waved, hung over her right eye, the other squinting at you, and you broke the stalemate.  


“Why did you stick up for me with her?”  


“You know why.”  


“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”  


“Because,” she mumbled, “it’s like when you bitch about your family. You’re allowed to talk shit about the people you love, but when someone else does it, that’s a big no-no. I wasn’t going to sit here and let you get decimated by that slag.”  


“Cause it’s your job, right? To kick me while I’m down?”  


Nikki’s one visible eye widened, and you reached for your water, swirling it around in the glass. The ice cubes clinked together as you created a mini-whirlpool, and you tried to get a handle on everything that had happened this afternoon. You got a job, you got blindsided by Amber. She told you that Mark had been the one to initiate the affair, and you were now sitting trying to salvage the remainder of your friendship with Nikki. For someone that had led a pretty quiet life for the past few years, it was memorable, and not all in a good way.  


“I just want to know what I did to you that led to this. We were close, Nikki,” your voice shook as your mind brought up a million memories of the times you spent together. Nights just watching television, talking about your plans for the future. Movies, concerts, more excursions to the bars than you were proud of. In all that time, you couldn’t recall ever doing anything overt to hurt her. “And you just pulled away and never told me why.”  


The waiter brought your tea and her Coke, setting them down and heading back to check on your food, leaving your words hanging in the air. This wasn’t the first time you’d tried to reach her, but it was going to be the last. You could either mend fences or go your separate ways forever.  


“Louisa was my best friend for pretty much all of my life,” she said, fiddling with her hair as you sat back. “You know my parents were…dysfunctional, and my aunt and uncle did the best they could under the circumstances. But Lou, she was the best. She was able to make me forget about the shitpile that was my home life.”  


Lou had told you some of what Nikki went through, but the woman herself always tried to fluff it off as no big deal. Other than a few passing comments, she’d never really delved down into what it was like growing up, but she did now. A mom and dad that took every opportunity to piss away chances that they were given, too consumed with drinking, fighting, and breaking up, only to get back together to inflict more misery on each other, and their daughter by default. Nikki dealt with it the best that she could, but it was bound to leave scars.   


“Every time I felt like my life was never going to get better, Lou was just sure that I’d be okay,” Nikki dropped her eyes when the waiter set down your plates, and when he walked away, there was a hitch in her voice. “You know how she is. There’s no problem that can’t be solved, no bad thing that can’t be put in the past, and I clung to it. I clung to _her,_ because she’s been the one positive in my life until you came along.”  


You were at a loss, watching her struggle to control herself. After the countless times you tried to find out what led to your estrangement, she was finally letting you in. Years had gone by since she’d pulled away from you, and the resentment had built up so much that it was like watching a shoddy building foundation crumble.  


“You came breezing in, freshman year when I was still trying to find myself, and you, me, and Lou hit it off right away. We did everything together, until we didn’t.”  


“What do you mean?”  


“You and Lou started hanging out more, and I felt left behind. Forgotten, just like always in my life.”  


Nikki covered her eyes with her hand, and you wracked your brain to think of all the times that you didn’t include her, and you could only recall a few things. The cross-country White Zombie excursion was one. Maybe a few movies or plays, and you got out of your seat, bending down next to her as she made a choked sound.   


“I didn’t mean to make you feel excluded, Nik,” you said softly. “You hate White Zombie. I didn’t think you’d want to spend weeks traveling around and seeing about ten of their shows. It was never meant to deliberately hurt you. And if I made you feel bad, I’m so sorry.”  


She’d been carrying this around for a long time, and you felt horrible, and a little frustrated if you were honest. If she’d told you then that she felt like you were being an asshole, you would’ve nipped it in the bud. There had been plenty of times that the two of them had gone off and done their thing, and you hadn’t gotten upset. But you also hadn’t been dealing with the type of insecurity that Nicole had throughout her life, and you pulled her into a hug.   


“I should’ve told you before,” she sniffled, once she got a little more emotionally steady. “It just- I felt like I was getting you back in a way because I knew it was hurting you that I shut you out. God, I need therapy.”  


“You kinda do.”  


Chuckling, you broke the embrace, and she wiped away the smeared mascara under her eyes. Your relationship wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, but there was an understanding on your end, and most importantly, you wanted your friendship with her back.  


“Sit down and eat, bitch. We’ve drawn enough attention to ourselves today, don’t you think?”  


Classic Nikki. You rolled your eyes with a smile but did as she said, even though no one was looking your way. As you dug into your meal, noodles in the chef’s signature black bean sauce, you thought about Amber. More specifically, what the hell she hoped to accomplish by following you like a psycho.   


According to her, she couldn’t care less about Negan, and she hadn’t known that Mark had still been trying to salvage your marriage, right up until last Friday. It made you wonder what they actually talked about, or if they’d discussed their future at all. As far as you were concerned, she could have him, but that didn’t seem to be enough for her. She either wanted you miserable and broken, or she wanted Negan to be. And if she cared so little about him, the bigger question was why?  


Maybe she was just one of those people that liked everyone to be miserable. Or maybe she thought that Negan would try to win her back, and she was angry that he didn’t.   


“So, what’s the real deal with the blonde whore?”  


She’d been dying to know what really happened between you and Mark, probably since she’d first heard about it, and you decided to just tell her. Starting from when you found the texts between him and Amber, you spared no detail, even though she damned near busted a gut when you admitted to following Negan, getting called out after tailing him to his local bar.   


Much like Lou, her opinion of your soon-to-be-ex was low, and she offered her brutal take on the end of your marriage, having overheard enough from Amber.  


“If you want my opinion, it’s probably a little from column A, and a little from column B,” she said thoughtfully, pressing the tines of the fork to her lip in contemplation. “The scraggly whorebag caught his eye, but she sure as shit would’ve made a move on him, regardless. She’s exactly like Jenny Treger.”  


“Oh my God.”  


Jenny Treger tried like hell to cozy up to Mark about six months after you started dating. She was notorious for trolling the campus, looking for guys that were already seeing someone. Her personal mission in life was to bag as many taken guys as she could, and Nikki had gotten into a physical fight when she’d slept with Nikki’s boyfriend, Matt. She’d broken his nose, too, after that dustup.   


“Remember what she said, right before I knocked out her front teeth?” she snickered, not even bothered that she almost got kicked out of school. “She told me she slept with him just because she could. Girls like that don’t need a reason, they just need an opportunity.”  


“I just don’t get it and I never will,” you muttered. “I thought I was good enough. I thought I was someone worthy enough of the truth. If he was that unhappy, he could’ve told me.”  


“Mark’s a world-class weenie. No matter what you would’ve said or done, it wouldn’t have made a difference,” Nikki said with no regard for your self-esteem whatsoever. “If it wasn’t Barbie, it would’ve been someone else down the line. You’re better off, aren’t you?”  


“Yes.”  


“And you’ve got a man that’s head and shoulders above that little fucker,” she told you, pushing her plate away. “Worry about how many different positions you can do it with him instead of the guy that wasn’t the one for you, anyway.”  


“You’re an ass,” you laughed, and she winked. It felt like old times, and you asked her how things were with her.   


Unsurprisingly, Nikki was moving up the ladder with Schiff’s Jewelers and was now managing all the stores in Virginia and North Carolina. It was keeping her busy, traveling between all the luxury shops, and she bemoaned her own stagnant love life.   


“Your hot new piece doesn’t happen to have a brother, does he?” Nikki looked at you out of the corner of her eye, and you grinned.  


“Nope, he’s an only child.”  


“Damn, I really need to get laid.”  


“What about that Christian guy? From the party?” You handed the waiter your card, and she cocked her head to the side like a dog. “Bob’s buddy. He was cute.”  


“And gay, I think. Pretty sure he’s in love with Negan, like everyone else,” she muttered, though the bite that she’d had over the last few times you’d seen each other was slowly dissipating. It was more of a general bitchiness that she was known for, and that you enjoyed when it wasn’t maliciously directed at you.   


As you signed for the check, she sent a message in your group text with Lou that everything was fine, and that you were heading out to sing ‘Kumbaya’ and dance around a maypole, along with a middle finger emoji. You snorted when you saw it, and the two of you walked out of the restaurant in a much better place than when you’d come in.  


“Any chance you’d want to take a break from new, hot guy to join Lou and me in New York next month?” she asked as you headed towards your car. “We’re hitting the Jewelry Expo, along with a spa weekend.”  


“I’d like that,” you tried to keep the surprise out of your voice. “I was actually thinking about flying in next month to meet with my finance guys.”  


“Ooh, maybe you could finally have that life-changing date with the one guy’s son,” she teased, and you elbowed her in the side, coming to a sudden stop.  


“What the _fuck_?”  


Nikki looked around to see what had you so rattled, and when she saw it, she gasped, heading straight for your car. You followed a few steps behind, feeling faint, and you reached out with trembling fingers, touching your door.  


“I’ll kill her,” she growled, turning on her heel. “I’ll fucking kill her! Stay here!”  


Taking off with fire, she shot back towards the restaurant as you stood, numb, looking at the word that had been keyed into your paint.   


CUNT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a bitch, right???


	21. Short Circuit

  
Negan was already home by the time you pulled in, and you parked to the right of his truck, not bothering to drive into the garage. It was after five, and you’d sent him a quick response when he’d texted you, wanting to know if everything was okay. All you’d said was that you’d see him at home.   


You were still trying to process everything that had happened, and you sat in the rental car that the dealership had provided you, staring out at the garage door in a haze. You were equally distressed, angry, and just plain sad.   


The car was just a car. Easily fixed. It was the intent behind what Amber had done that had rattled you. She was a vicious human being, and you knew that the immature and destructive act had been done to get back at you for what happened in the restaurant. She was not only a gold-digging asshole, she was vindictive as hell.   


Nikki had wanted to hunt her down right away and settle it physically, but after you’d called the cops and filed a report, you sat in your car, thinking. Chef Guo had a camera in their parking lot, and it had a direct view of Amber keying your door. Rather than hand it over to the cops, you’d asked the manager to send the video to your email, and he’d complied immediately.  


You doubted it would be more than a misdemeanor, and the bitch wouldn’t do any jail time. She’d pay a fine, and probably damages, and that would be it. No, you’d want to hit her where it hurt, and you replayed the entire encounter with her in your mind, over and over. What you lacked in on-the-spot brutality, you made up for in careful planning.  


Nikki was better at reacting immediately, and you were a master at the long play. So, after listening to her rage for several minutes, you told her that you wanted to mull it over. She’d known you long enough to dial it back, and after making you promise to let her know what you decided, she gave you a quick hug and headed out.   


Armed with your police report and shaky self-esteem, you called the car dealership, explaining the situation. Since you’d bought a few times from them, they agreed to see you right away, and you pulled in, mortally embarrassed when they came out to inspect the damage. They weren’t going to be able to get it done that week, and you made arrangements for one of their rentals, heading out long after four.   


To end the day on a good note (you hoped), you stopped to get your background check for the Kingdom, reasonably sure that it would come back clean. Other than getting a warning for underage drinking in your freshman year of college, you’d kept your nose out of trouble. The threat of disappointing your dad outweighed any sort of illegal fun, but by the time you’d gotten home, you felt some trepidation about going inside.  


Should you tell Negan what happened and risk him flipping out again, or just keep it to yourself for now?  


In the end, he made the decision for you.   


“Honey?”  


Tossing your purse on the table, you walked around the island to find him sitting on the floor with Fletch in his lap. He looked sad and angry, and you knelt down next to him, accepting a sloppy kiss from the dog.  


“Honey, what’s wrong?”  


Fletch didn’t look sick. He looked like his normal, happy self, even though Negan was wrapped around him like a vise. You were getting more worried by the second, with good reason when he finally spoke.  


“She’s fucking fighting me for custody of the dog. She called me this afternoon.”  


That fucking lying, scheming _whore_. You’d bet every dollar you had that she called him after she left the restaurant, and you stood up without thinking. Your hands were clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms, though you barely felt it. The anger was coursing through your veins, souring your blood, and you started for the back door, not really thinking about where you were going. You just needed to move.  


This was all your fault. You’d pissed her off, and now she was taking it out on Negan. Amber didn’t give a shit about the dog. She just wanted to hurt him, and you by extension. She couldn’t take his money, due to the fact that she was in the wrong and he had reason to file, but you knew that she could piss around with the details, and you’d be goddamned if you’d let it happen. Negan didn’t want the house or any of the stuff inside it. He just wanted Fletch.  


The door creaked as it opened behind you, and he came out with Fletch, who took off into the yard, chasing a squirrel that had been foolish enough to loiter around. As you watched him barking and circling the tree, you felt big, warm hands settle on your shoulders, and you leaned back onto his chest.  


“She won’t win,” you said quietly, with a conviction that you felt into your bones.  


“I know she won’t, but she’ll drag this out, and I…”  


You turned around in his arms, caught off guard by the bracelets that he was wearing. Black leather studded ones, and you ran your finger over them. They looked nice on his wrist. Really nice. Masculine, and they drew attention to the fine hair on his hand and his long fingers.  


“I’ve never seen you wear these before.”  


“The art teacher made them for me. She gave them to me today. Word’s gone around that I got dumped,” he said, smiling slightly.  


It wasn’t funny to you. Despite Amber’s indifference, you knew for a fact that Negan was a catch. He was smart, employed, and very handsome, and after the day you’d had, it was just a bridge too far, imagining some woman slinking up to him at work and gifting him with a present. In fact, it knocked you completely off-kilter, and you burst into tears, covering your face.  


“Excuse me,” you gasped, rushing back into the house and up the steps. Taking them two at a time, you fled to your room, throwing yourself onto the bed and your face in the pillow to muffle your cries. Maybe it was hormones that were causing you to act a fool, or maybe you’d just been through the wringer, and you needed time to vent. Either way, once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop, and you heard the floor creak, sinking further into the pillow.  


_A fat, ugly cow_. No one would want you, your doubt drummed in your ears. Sure, maybe for a while, but there’d always be someone else waiting in the wings. They were for Mark, and there’d damned sure be for Negan. They were already circling around like sharks, smelling blood. He’d find someone else. A girl with more confidence, who hadn’t been cheated on. One that wouldn’t worry every day that some tempting young thing wasn’t going to steal him away. Who wouldn’t want a man like him?  


God, you hated yourself. You wouldn’t blame him if he just packed up what little he had at your house and walked out.  


You shivered when you felt him brush your hair away from your face, burying it deeper, and it was hard to breathe. Fingers continued to stroke your head, and you inhaled deeply after a few minutes, rolling onto your back, though you kept your arm over your eyes.  


“I’m sorry,” you hyperventilated around each word. “I had a bad day.”  


“Look at me,” he sounded quiet and serious, but you couldn’t. You were just too far into emotional overload. He let you wallow for a few minutes more, then he just pulled your hand away from your head himself, cupping your cheek when it flopped to the side like dead weight. The stupid bracelets were brushing your jaw, and you refused to meet his eyes, instead looking at the insignia on his shirt. The blue and white eagle was glaring at you in disgust, and your chin trembled as you tried not to keep crying.  


“Tell me what happened, darlin’. Did the interview suck?”  


Shaking your head, you let out a little croak. “No.”  


“Did he hit on you? Ask you to sleep with him?”  


Your eyes flew up, thinking he was kidding, but Negan was totally serious. The look on his face stirred something inside you. He was angry, and his cheeks were slightly pink. His pupils were pinpricks, and you imagined if you said yes, he’d drive over there and beat the hell out of Ezekiel. It plain didn’t occur to you to be offended by the question, and you shook your head again.  


“No! He was a gentleman. I’m going to be teaching money management and finance.”  


The relief was instantaneous, spreading across his features like water over river rocks, and he bent down impulsively to kiss you. His lips were like magic, lathering you in affection that you sorely needed, and you deepened the embrace, sliding your arms around his neck, preventing him from breaking it. The need to just be joined with him was drowning out the doubts in your head, and he mumbled into your mouth.  


“What’s wrong, sweetness?”  


“Make love to me, please,” you never thought you’d utter such a cheesy sentence, but there it was. You needed him to physically show you how much you meant to him and it had to be right then. Between ex-wives and unseen teachers lusting after him, you had to know that he belonged to you, that you were the woman for him. If you had to beg, you would.  


He reared back, and you let out a choked cry, clinging to him by the shirt. Whatever he was seeing in you, whether it was anguish or the unwavering desire for a physical connection with him on what was supposed to be an uneventful Monday, he sat up and pulled you with him, bracing you upright.  


Wordlessly, he loosened your hair, combing it free with his fingers as you stared at his face. He was so beautiful. Simply beautiful. You leaned back on your hands as he slid down the bed, undoing your boots and setting them on the floor. It was eerily quiet as you got to your feet, and Negan unbuttoned your slacks, letting them drop down your legs. Using the tips of his fingers, he lifted your shirt over your head and set it aside.   


While you stood there, he undressed slowly, and you studied every move, trying not to look at those fucking bracelets on his wrist, wondering who the woman was. Had she been waiting for this moment? Did she think that now that he was getting divorced that it was her chance?  


Negan was yours. He belonged to _you_ , and you took what no one had any right to deny you. You’d suffered through hell to get to this point in your life, and there was no woman that could take him away from you. Right then, it didn’t bother you that he wasn’t hard. You gripped his shaft anyway, pumping your hands along his length as you rose on your tiptoes, nuzzling his neck. He exhaled deeply, folding his arms around your back and undoing your bra as you made your way from his adam’s apple to just behind his right ear.  


His skin was warm where it touched your lips, and you poked your tongue out, lapping at his pulse point, the salty taste reaching you where your doubts couldn’t follow. He was perfection, and the heart of his beauty lay in his simplicity. Negan was a genuine person. He was always honest, and the arousal that was making a slow build between your palms couldn’t lie or deceive you. He desired you as much as you wanted him. You just had to keep telling yourself that, no matter what anyone else thought.  


“On the bed,” he ordered, raking the straps of your bra down your arms, and you let him go, reluctantly, removing your panties before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Negan was still standing, erect in your face, and you closed your mouth around him, using one hand to secure the base and the other to hold his hip. When he hit the back of your throat, he called out your name, balling your hair in his fist. The tone of his voice sent a wave of heat up your spine, and you turned your eyes upward to find his locked onto you.  


As he eased your head back, his thumbs cleared away the tears that had settled under your lashes, and he bent down to kiss you, leaning you gently back on the mattress. His taste must’ve been on your tongue, but it didn’t stop him from exploring the depths of your mouth, kickstarting the arousal between your legs, and they opened automatically so that he could slot himself between them.  


You were barely on the bed, just enough for his knees to hit the edge, and Negan slid his arms under your shoulders, cupping the back of your head as he made the kiss impossibly deeper. The action drew a whimper from your lungs and a sigh from him. Melting into his touch, you felt him brush against your opening, and you tilted your hips up for friction, crying out when he negotiated himself into you with minimal effort.  


“Negan,” you panted into his lips, opening your eyes when he tugged on your hair. “So much-“  


He cut you off, closing his mouth over yours with a groan, and you locked your ankles around his waist, pressing your heels down for him to move. He did, bottoming out with a lazy push, exhaling through his nose and making your eyes roll back in your head. It was so right, so wonderful that you floated down into a sea of warmth and protection, barely noticing when he broke the embrace, resting his cheek against yours as he moved.  


Everything was him, from the smell of his body to the feel of him above you, around you, and inside you, taking away your worries and sadness, if only momentarily. You were in a bubble of safety with him thrusting into you, through you, quelling the fear that another woman could take your place.  


“Beautiful girl,” he whispered in your ear, picking up the pace. “My beautiful girl.”  


_I love you. You know I do._  


Choking the words off before they could escape your throat, you arched your back in his hold, running your hands over the length of his body. He was strong. Strong enough to hold you up when you felt like you were falling. Taut, powerful muscles, and an intractable heart. There was no one on earth like this man, and you cried out when you orgasmed, feeling it from the top of your head down through your body, like riding a roller coaster. Negan buried his head in your neck, exploding mere seconds after you, and you lay in a mixed heap during the aftershocks, panting.   


He stayed sheathed inside you, even as he softened, just breathing into your hair, sending more warmth across your fevered skin. All the while, you tried to remain in bliss, clinging to it like you’d held onto his shirt, but it wasn’t to be.  


Negan murmured your name as he lifted his head, struggling to focus on you. His hair was mussed, falling over his forehead in a messy wave, and you brushed it back, leaving your fingers twined in it. You owed him an explanation for your wayward emotional state, but you didn’t want to leave the cocoon of his body to do so.  


“Please don’t move,” you asked him, “and I’ll tell you…about my day.”  


Resting your calves on the back of his, you swallowed hard as you played with his hair. He had his full attention, and you tried to smile, failing.  


“The interview went really well, actually,” you began, still feeling that thrumming pleasure at your core. He was yours. “Ezekiel is a nice guy like you said. He showed me around the Kingdom, and I got to see how the kids are living and working. They grow their own food and maintain the property. It’s pretty neat. The old classrooms were turned into little dorm rooms, and Ezekiel and his wife live there full-time.”  


“Uh-huh,” he prompted you. “What else did you talk about?”  


“My reasons for wanting to volunteer. He knew my name from donations I’d made over the last couple of years,” you answered. “I told him the truth, that I’d been blessed, but lately I’ve been feeling unfulfilled, and I wanted to do more than just write a check. I told him I’d do whatever he needed, even if it was just sweeping floors.”  


“But you’re going to be my little teacher honey?” his eyes crinkled up, and your cheeks turned hot.   


“Well, he knew I’d graduated at the top of my class in business, so he told me that he’d like me to teach the kids about financial basics. Paying their bills, setting a budget, and how to invest and save their money.”  


“I’m fucking proud of you. You’ll do great, I know it.”  


“Thank you,” you kissed him, lowering your legs as you felt a little more secure, and you helped him roll to the side. You were still laying crosswise on the bed, so you reached behind him for one of the pillows, and you both put your heads on it. Negan put one arm underneath, and took your fingers in the other, twining them with his.  


“After that, I went to meet Lou for lunch, but she wasn’t there. Nikki was.”  


“The scary redhead from the party?”  


“That’s the one,” you couldn’t help chuckling. She’d come on strong to him when he first walked in, and first impressions were sometimes dead on. “She’s Lou’s cousin, and the three of us were inseparable all through the first part of school. But sometime before graduation, she started to distance herself from me.”  


“Then she’s an idiot as well as forward as fuck,” he sniffed, and you smiled. That darned honesty again. “You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve ever met, and other than the two fuckwads that brought us together, I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t want to be around you twenty-four hours a day.”  


“I feel the exact same way about you, Negan. I hope you know that.”  


He rewarded you with the gentlest kiss you’d ever received, nibbling on your lower lip, and you were glad that you didn’t blurt out anything about the goddamned art teacher, ruining the moment. Insecurity was insanely unattractive, especially with such an outstanding specimen currently wrapped up in your arms.  


“Anyway, I’d tried over the years to find out what I’d done wrong, and she’d always freeze me out. The longer it went on, the more passive-aggressive she got. Nikki’s real good at making you feel like shit,” you muttered. “So, Lou set up the lunch and texted us both that if we didn’t work our shit out, she was done with both of us.”  


Negan laughed as he brought your fingers to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. So far, what you’d told him wasn’t bad, and you could tell he was waiting for the really fucked up part, and you made an executive decision not to include Amber’s following you. The two of you had been through enough the past week with Mark showing up unannounced, and you had a hunch that adding her into the narrative was going to send him over the edge. The unease of her lashing out at him right after your big throwdown made you feel like this was something that you needed to handle on your own. You knew implicitly that you could confide in him, but he was involved too personally. He’d take it too personally, and want to go rushing off to confront her, and it would do more damage than it would rectify.  


Instead, you told him about your talk with Nikki and the fact that she’d felt brushed aside by you. Negan was well aware of how sensitive you could be, and he listened thoughtfully as you admitted to not really understanding how hurtful she’d perceived you doing things without her. Still, you also insisted that if she’d just opened up from the beginning, you wouldn’t have wasted all that time not having the friendship you should.  


“Well, that’s good, I guess, that you sorted your shit out.”  


“It is,” you agreed, “except my car was vandalized while I was inside.”  


“Are you fucking kidding me?”  


He sat up, letting go of your hand, and you reluctantly followed, trying to cover yourself since you felt weirdly self-conscious. That simmering anger on your behalf started to show up, painting his features in a harsh light, and you gently touched his arm, sliding around him to lay at the head of the bed.   


“It was keyed pretty badly.”  


“Well, was there a camera in the parking lot? Did you call the cops?”  


“I filed a police report, and I took it to the dealership to get repaired. It just…it bothered me for some reason.”  


Not some reason, but he didn’t need to know that, yet. You were still working out what you wanted to do with the video evidence, and you think you had an idea.   


“So, that’s what held me up, and I figured it was bad luck on my end, but then I got home and you told me that your fucking bitch of a wife is now threatening to hold up the divorce just to fight you over Fletch.”  


Negan’s shoulders rolled forward before he flopped down beside you, and you scooted yourself so that you could lay your head on his chest. He immediately put his arm around your waist. You were still laying above the covers, and you draped your leg over his hips, prompting him to rest his free hand on your knee.   


“I don’t care what the fuck I have to do, she’s not getting my dog,” he sounded so furious that you looked up, seeing how tight his jaw was. “I don’t want to drag this out, Doll, but she’s taken years of my life, the house I bought and fixed up, and did her goddamnedest to make me feel like a failure and a shitty person. She’s not taking Fletch, too.”  


“Of course not,” you turned his face towards you, giving him time to cool down. “There’s no way she’ll win. And for the record, you are neither a failure nor a shitty person. I’m just thankful that she was too blinded by money to see what I see.”  


He plopped you on top of him, and you bent down over him, placing soft kisses on his cheeks and nose, moving up to his eyelids as they shut, making your touch feather-light. “You’re intelligent and charming,” you continued on to his jaw, wrinkling your nose when the scruff of his chin tickled your upper lip, “and devastatingly handsome, as I’m sure many other women have noticed.”  


Negan’s eyes opened, but you kept working your way to his ear, nibbling on the lobe. As you pressed your teeth in gently, he chuckled, using both hands to pull you back. The look in his eyes was teasing, and you didn’t like it.  


“Is there any woman in particular that you think might have noticed?”  


“An art teacher, obviously,” your cheeks were warm, and you glanced at his wrist.  


“Aww, are you jealous?” he teased you, and you sat up, placing your hands on his chest.   


“Would you be jealous if I came home wearing jewelry that some guy gave me?”  


His grin only grew, and you sighed, swinging off of him and getting to your feet. You picked up your clothes and his, tossing them into the hamper on your way to the bathroom, and you turned on the shower, still feeling out of sorts about this mystery woman that couldn’t wait to offer Negan a favor of her affections. Plus, you felt embarrassed that you’d run off crying like some damsel from the past, afraid that said woman would steal his attention.  


He came strolling in, still wearing that fucking smile, and you turned away, opening the shower door. He stopped you before you could walk in, and he linked his fingers around your waist as you tried to push free.  


“I may be getting a divorce, but I am _not_ on the market,” he said. “Addie, the art teacher, is sixty-something years old and married. To a woman.”  


You kept your face from moving, though you stopped struggling, and his eyebrows rose.  


“She wears long, peasant dresses and woven sandals, and she smells like patchouli. She’s very sweet, and she thought that she’d make me this leather wrap to cheer me up, which I appreciated, but I’m not sad, Doll. I’m with my girl, my only girl,” he told you, “and if you come home wearing something that some guy gifts you, then…”   


Bam! He slapped your left ass cheek, and you jumped, shooting him a dirty look.   


“You’ll get a spanking.”  


Dropping his arms, he went directly to the spray, face first. Really? That was all he was going to say about it? He wasn’t taking it seriously, and it kind of made you mad. Obviously, it was a relief to hear that the bracelet wasn’t a love token or anything, but you still thought about how he’d feel if you’d done the same thing. You were pretty sure if you’d more or less told him to get over it, you’d be getting read the riot act.  


Whatever. You’d been through enough angst for the day. Without a word, you went to the opposite side of the shower, ducking your head under, trying to turn your brain off for the night. It was quiet in the stall, just the sound of water hitting the tiles and moving through the pipes.  


“Should I shave off my pubes?”  


“What?” the word came out with about four extra syllables because you laughed in surprise, turning to see him staring down at his junk with a frown.   


“I’m serious. One of the younger guys in the athletic department was bragging about how much women like a man that’s all shaved and shit. Metrosexual or something. Do you want me to be hairless?”  


“No,” you kept laughing, rinsing out your hair. He glanced up with a sour look, turning to face you.  


“I’m fucking serious. My chest hairs are starting to get some gray in them, and it’s only a matter of time before my pubes do too.”  


“Please stop saying the word pubes,” you couldn’t stop laughing, now, and he crowded into your space in a full-on pout. He snagged your wrist, making you run your hands through his chest hair, and you tried to not smile at his miniature mid-life crisis.   


“Do you want me to shave? See if you like it better?”  


“Fine,” you sighed, turning him so that your chest was pressed against his back. “Let me see.”  


Pressing your nose between his shoulder blades, you brought your other arm around him so that you were hugging him from behind. Each of your hands splayed out over his chest, combing through the hair that grew there. You moved them across, tutting when it thinned out as you grazed over his nipples. Negan’s head tilted back, and you slid them down the center, plucking lightly at the deeper patch that grew down.   


Moving with purpose, you let your fingers dip into each abdominal muscle, counting six -no, eight ridges, ignoring the guttural sound that was amplified by the glass walls. Skipping the area near his dick, you lightly thumbed the crease of his thighs, bringing your hands together loosely around the base of his hardening erection.   


Dropping your right hand, you skirted around his side, lowering yourself to your knees, lifting it straight up in the guise of looking at his balls. They hung heavy, with a baby-fine covering of hair, and you opened wide, sucking one in.   


Negan’s head dropped back even lower, and you ran your hand lazily up and down the shaft, tonguing the sac for a minute or so and then switching to the other one, never increasing the pace with which you were moving. Just when he started to flick his hips, you let it go, taking his dick all the way into your mouth so that your nose brushed the short hairs at the base.   


You let him thrust in your mouth three times before sitting back and using his thighs to stand up.  


“Nope,” you told him in a chipper voice, breaking him out of the stupor that he’d gone into. “Feels plenty fine to me.”  


He blinked rapidly, and you gave him a thumbs up, turning back to your spray. _Spank that, buddy._  


Humming to yourself, you lathered up your loofah, scrubbing your arms and legs before starting on your stomach, and when you rinsed yourself clean, you noticed that he was still watching you, stroking himself, and you gave him a friendly smile. The loofah flew out of your hand when he launched himself at you, picking you up and setting you in front of the bench, kicking your legs apart with his foot.   


“Excuse me?” you said over your shoulder, but he turned your upper body to face the corner, rubbing the head along your slit. Clamping your lips shut, you curled your nails into the tiled seat, rocking forward when he shoved himself all the way in.  


“How does it feel from behind?” he growled, moving his hips up and down so that his thigh hair and thatch rubbed up against you. “We haven’t done a full test yet. I want you to have all the information.”  


You whimpered in an angrily erotic tenor, staring blindly at the steamed glass as he began to move, the slap of his skin on yours sounding in your ears. Every time it seemed you got one up on him, he just came right back and evened the score, using his considerable strength and size to leave you quivering underneath him.   


“Now let’s try this,” his words were strained with effort, lifting you up so that you were on your knees, and he held you upright with a hand to your right breast. “How does it feel to have that hair rubbing on your back when I fuck you like this?”  


“Oh,” you moaned, because kneeling up straight meant that he could kick his hips upward, giving you even more of his cock, and you used one hand to loop around his neck and the other to stimulate yourself.   


“Oh isn’t a feeling,” he muttered in your ear. You turned your face, twisting yourself in a way that you didn’t know you could to bite his lower lip. With each plunge, you rose up a few inches and it made the back of your spine tingle and tickle with the friction of his hair. “Tell me how it feels.”  


“Good,” you sighed, edging closer to completion. “So good.”  


As your fingers moved at lightning speed, you hit the peak suddenly, and it was only Negan’s hold on you that kept you upright. Your legs were shaking along with the rest of your body, and it pistoned himself deep inside you, riding your contractions until he came as well, slamming his hips against your ass and thighs, unknowingly creating brush burns on your knees.   


“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Negan panted, running his hands over the entirety of your body. “You’re unbelievable.”  


You hunched over, catching your breath as he pulled out, and he helped you to your feet. Your knees had two bright red spots on them, and he washed them carefully, holding you close to him under his spray, giving you soft, affectionate kisses.  


“I should’ve told you upfront about the art teacher. I wasn’t thinking about how it would look.”  


“Negan, I trust you,” you said, turning off the water. “I hope you know that I do, even after everything that happened with Mark. But like I said, I know I’m not the only woman that would ever be interested in you.”  


He followed you out of the shower, studying you closely as he dried his head. One of the first thoughts you’d had after you met him was that he’d have no trouble finding another girl after filing for divorce, and you told him as much.   


“Well, you’re the only woman I’m interested in,” he brushed his nose against yours. “Don’t think I haven’t thought the same fucking thing about you. You could walk out that door and have a hundred guys lined up to fight for you. I’m just lucky I saw you first.”  


“You’re not lucky,” you scoffed, throwing on a nightgown as he hung up your towels. “You’re my reward.”  


The smile that lit up his face was so sweet, so heartbreakingly innocent that it sent you straight to him, hugging him to you with a strength that matched his, and it warmed you as much as the shower did. 

* * *

“Negan, do you trust me?”  


He glanced up from the sink where he’d been washing the saucepan to see you sitting at the island with your chin resting on your hand. Fletch was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, panting in his sleep near your foot, and he turned off the water, wiping his hands.  


“Of course I do, why?”  


“Well, if I asked you to do something for me, would you? Without questioning it?”  


“Ask me,” he leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest.  


Your heart started to pick up its pace, thrumming in your ribs, and you tried to maintain steady eye contact with him.  


“Would you call MaryAnn in the morning and give permission for her to discuss your divorce with me?”  


“Why?”  


“See, I just asked you-“  


“You’re not footing the bill for my divorce, sugarplum,” he started towards you, stepping over Fletch’s stocky body. “I can pay for this myself.”  


“I’m not going to pay for your divorce,” you waved him off. That was true, at least. “I just have some questions for her, a few things that I want to ask, and I want your permission to do so.”  


Thank God you were able to keep your face straight because he studied you so closely that you wouldn’t be surprised if he had x-ray vision. A lie of omission was better than an outright fib, and you weren’t intending to write a check to pay for the filing. You had other things you needed to address.   


If he thought you were trying to pull the wool over his eyes, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said he’d call first thing in the morning and tell MaryAnn that she could discuss anything you wanted with her. Thanking him, you kept your mouth shut about it for the rest of the evening, and the two of you retired to the couch to watch some old western on TMC.  


Long after Negan fell asleep, you crept down the steps, tiptoeing into your office and turning on your computer. Luckily for you, Fletch was a heavy sleeper, and he didn’t follow behind you. He and Negan were both snoring softly in the night, and you kept the lights off as you watched the video of Amber keying your car on a loop.   


She may have thrown you off balance for a while, but you had something that she didn’t: money and connections. While her crime continued to play in the background, you pulled out your address book, sending an email to the guy that had done the original snooping for you when you found out about the affair. In it, you detailed everything that you wanted him to get for you, offering him a bonus if he could have it in 24 hours.   


After that, you composed one to the bitch herself, and it contained just two sentences.  


**Meet me at Dillon’s Steakhouse Wednesday at 3 pm. This is your only chance.**

Satisfied, you shut the computer down, filling a glass with water and carrying it up to your room. Fletch was still zonked out on his back, and you patted his tummy on your way back to the bed. Crawling in, you froze when you realized Negan was awake, but he merely lifted the covers for you, and you faced him in the dark.  


“Sorry,” you murmured. “I just needed some water.”  


“Something else is going on, but I hope you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”  


Unsure of what to say, you watched him roll away from you, chewing on your lip as his breaths evened out. You would tell him everything. After it was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the emotions were all over the place. They needed to be, because the next chapter is big! Amber doesn't know what's coming for her.


End file.
